Isn't it romantic?

A few months ago, Mr. Yardbird and I had a rare opportunity to go out on a date. I could give you a million reasons why that is, but it's not important.

My cousin, Sally offered to watch Ham for us and when the night rolled around we put real people clothes on, got in the car and sailed down the street.

The problem is, is that we had no idea where we were going.

Mr. Yardbird turned the corner and asked me where we were headed.

I gave him my best "beats me" shrug of the shoulders.

You see, we were both pretty beat, Mr. Yardbird working harder than anyone I know and me chasing a toddler around the house while simultaneously writing well-thought papers. It was exhausting.

Somehow neither of us had thought about it.

So after driving around for forty five minutes we chose a real expensive restaurant for lack of direction and hunger and because we had no idea what to do with ourselves.

The problem with real expensive restaurants is that nine times out of ten, Mr. Yardbird is going to get sick three bites into the meal.

But we'll get to that in a minute.

So anyway, we get to the restaurant which is on a quaint but sort of busy street and decide why not sit outside. What a view the outside had, this is after all a really kind of trendy area.

What we failed to realize was that it was only 6:45 pm of one of the hottest days of the year and the cement sidewalks don't technically cool until well after the sun goes down. And so, even in the evening hours, when the sun is tucked behind buildings or trees, it's about as hot as the holy moly outside.

But nonetheless, we tell our hostess, we want to sit outside and we get a 'what a bunch of morons' look which neither of us really notice.

"Isn't this nice," I asked Mr. Yardbird.

He nods his head and smiles at me, taking a sip of his Malbec wine.

Malbec wine isn't the kind of wine you want to drink when it's excruciatingly hot outside. No, its robust, heavy taste makes it by far a cold weather wine. But we weren't thinking and so beads of sweat are forming at our temples and above our mouths.

But that's okay because this is romantic.

And besides that nothing quite cools you off like a nice breeze. No not the wind. But the gust of wind that each passing car brings as it plows down this little street. The cars that - did I mention - are only three feet away and when they pass they just about take you away with them.

That's okay because the breeze or gust of wind, well,  it's sort of romantic too.

The waiter comes out and asks us what we would like. I'd tell you what we ordered but I haven't a clue. All I remember is that Mr. Yardbird and I couldn't decide on some oysters for an appetizer and just when we decided not to get them...

"and we'll start off with oysters." Mr. Yardbird told the waiter. So I shrugged my shoulders, he must have really wanted them.

And while we wait, we try to come up with conversation that doesn't involve work, or school or Ham. But just as soon as that starts...

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Mr. Yardbird and I turn and realize our loud humming source is the street light across the road. We turn back to each other and we smirk a little bit, because I think we sort of know the situation that we got ourselves in. So, we try our best to talk above the loud constant hum of the light.

And while we talk we casually wipe the sweat from our brows, and pull at our clothes that are sticking to us, and I don't know about Mr. Yardbird, but it takes everything in me not to stand up and slap my legs and arms like a lunatic, because well, it is after all mosquito season and the last I checked there had been some mosquitoes buzzing around with encephalitis. But who cares about that.

And just when we thought we were at our wits end, the waiter appears with our oysters and boy do they look delicious. So we break off our share and we begin eating. I hardly notice Mr. Yardbird, because the fried oysters are entirely too delicious but then I decide to look up and tell him I'm so glad he decided to get them.

But, Mr. Yardbird...he didn't look so good.

I look over at a pale Mr. Yardbird, slowly chewing his oh so good oysters.

"You don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good."

It could have been the constant gushes of city air, or loud almost, deafening sound of the street light, it could have been the oysters, or the fact that it felt like 102 degrees outside, it might have even been the onset of encephalitis or any combination of the above. What I did know is that pale look of his face was nothing to take lightly.

"Maybe you should go splash some water on your face." I say this because I know exactly where this is headed and I need to by us some time to get the heck out of there.

"You're right." And while he heads off to the bathroom. I motion the waiter over, tell him to box everything up including our food that hasn't come out yet and cork the wine. We're leaving. And being the nice waiter he was everything was set to go as soon as Mr. Yardbird reappeared.

"Let's go."

Whatever it was that was ailing Mr. Yardbird didn't seem to be bothering him the closer we got to the car. "We should go for a walk. I feel better."

But I didn't think we should take any chances.

He set the wine in the backseat and we drove home in the nice cool air conditioned car.

But a quick slam of the breaks and I hear a loud thump in the back seat.

"Was that the....?" "Did you put the...."

A turn my head and sure enough the wine has exploded all over the back seat.

I shake me head. I'm trying to keep my cool but I want to tell him, "To the moon, Mr. Yardbird." and shake my fist in the air, like Ralph from the honeymooners.

But, I don't and I say "let's go get some carpet cleaner."

And so instead of getting our facebook, power couple photo in front of the restaurant, we snapped this at wal-mart.

Good Ole Wal-Mart

When we pulled up at home, we were shocked to see a night heron walking in the street. I had been telling Mr. Yardbird all about these birds that looked real strange in the tree across the street. And if things didn't happen the way that they did, we wouldn't have spent the rest of the night sipping gin and tonics, googling and chasing a night heron down the street with Sally which turns out was ten times more fun then oysters, encephalitis and 102 degree heat.

Night Heron

Googling Night Herons

We need a new.....We need to do...

Just last week, Mr. Yardbird came home and in his typical fashion, replaced our filters, said his favorite phrase "we need a new ________" about sixteen thousand times to which I wearily nodded my head and thought yep, add that to the list of we needs, and showed me how to properly operate my not so broken vacuum cleaner.

"It's not sucking anything up." I said. I hoped this would turn the "we need a new vacuum" light on in his head.

It didn't. Why doesn't that work when I need it to?

"Did you try turning this nob?" He asked. He points down to the nob that says something like floor followed by an arrow and then I don't know....carpet. Whatever.

I admit, I hadn't thought of that. "No." I say flatly.

"Well, it works just fine when you do that." He runs the vacuum over the carpet and okay, so yes, it looks like it might actually be working.

"Well wait a minute. That's nothing." I disappear into the kitchen and come back with a hand full of crackers. I smash them into my fist and toss them in front of the vacuum. "See if it can take THAT...I mean, that's what we're dealing with here." I motion over to Ham who looks like this smash cracker thing is something I made up or something that Murphy does, but certainly not him.

Sure enough it works. My temperamental, won't work for me, vacuum, works just fine for Mr. Yardbird.

I hate you, vacuum.

And I'm sort of mad, because just a few weeks ago, I was so proud of myself for taking it all apart to fix the internal problem I thought it was having. I called Mr. Yardbird and told him. "Yep, I think I fixed it. Took the whole thing apart. And I put it back together, no problem. Yep, nothing to it."

What I didn't realize is that I hadn't really done anything internally to it. I opened it all up, said yep that's the inside of a vacuum, and put it all back together. And as I hung up with Mr. Yardbird I glanced over and saw three screws I somehow missed. Three screws I sure hope the vacuum doesn't miss. Needless to say I didn't fix it like I thought. I was forced to use the handheld vacuum for weeks.

But oh Mr. Yardbird turns a nob and *poof* it's like a brand new vacuum.

He has a way of getting things back on course.

And besides the attention he gave our vacuum, and our air filters, he decided we should also think about dusting the house from top to bottom. "I bought this new duster and I think we need to dust the whole house," he said.

I look at that cute little duster in his hand.

"Uh huh." I forced a smile. And thought...If only I could wave that thing around and it would throw Ham's toys in his toy bin, the books on the shelves and magically organize my pots and pans, if ever I could locate them all.

Then I look over at Ham and I think...Who the heck has time for dusting?

But besides the filters, the vacuum and his sudden interest in dusting, he noticed my potted plants in the front of the house were looking a little shabby and he thought maybe it wouldn't hurt to go pick out some new flowers from Home Depot.

"We also need some new flowers," he said.

My ears perked up. "Did you say flowers? I asked.  Seriously....hadn't he just said "we need a new broom, we need a new rug, we need a new bed, we need a new portable gas grill, we need a house with no dust, we need a new filter, we need floors that are insulated or a house that's not a hundred years old"....I'm sorry but I can't keep up with our need news and need to do's.

But flowers. Well I can do flowers.

So off to Home Depot we went.

We put a dazed, I need a nap real bad, Ham, in the cart and as Ham and I whirled around the isles of plants, I rubbed his little back and hummed a song to him. I've master the push the cart with one hand and hug my Hammy with other.

And as we wheeled around, Mr. Yardbird searched for the purple/blue flowers I wanted so bad and Ham snapped out of his daze for a minute, glanced up at me - smiled real big - I'm not sure if it was from the back rub or the song I was humming- reached up and kissed my face. It was one of those sort of melt your heart moments, that makes you realize, my kid really loves me.

Ham has a way of doing that a lot.

While Mr. Yardbird located my purple/blue flowers, I managed to pick out a few other flowers I am pretty sure we needed.

And we went home and opted for working in my potted plant garden instead of dusting, thank goodness. We'll save that for a rainy day. And I've decided since Mr. Yardbird and the vacuum get along soooo great, they can just continue their lovely relationship.

Because, I think we need a new.... vacuum pusher.

 Thanks, Mr. Yardbird.

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.

So long Exersaucer....

Today I bit the bullet and finally put away Ham's exersaucer.

The truth is I really only stopped using it two months ago.

It sounds bad, but in case of emergencies, like if I needed a good place to stick Ham where I knew he would stay put for a few minutes, it did the job.

But we really are past all that.

We had been spring cleaning. I've been cleaning out the pantry, the fridge, the bookshelves.

And Ham has been finding new places to put my pots and the remotes to the t.v.

He likes to keep things interesting and I suppose it is his way of saying there are better places to put things.

I am not amused.

I had finally got around to our bedroom and finished putting clothes away and tripped over the exersaucer for the fifteen millionth time.

Most of the time I ignore that, because every time I think about putting it away, I get a lump in my throat.

In my heart, though, I knew it was time.

While Ham was taking his nap, I pushed the buttons on the sides and slowly took it apart.

I thought about the day we bought it.

We were lucky, because we hadn't had to buy anything for Ham. Clothes, shoes, toys, you name it. We were covered.

We were driving home from his four month shots we were a month late on and Mr. Yardbird had just gotten home from India. We wanted to get Ham something special from us and decided to swing past Babies R Us to grab an exersaucer.

Some how or another I ended up putting the exersaucer together by myself. I think because Mr. Yardbird had to go back to work.

I don't have the patience to read directions so naturally I jammed all the wrong pegs in the wrong places. Then I couldn't get them out and I forced to leave one of the toys off the top because it wouldn't fit with my arrangement.

I remember the look on Ham's face when he got into the exersaucer and how he cried inconsolably when he first saw the Penguin toy. And how for the first few weeks I had to face him away from that terrifyingly happy Penguin. But in so doing, Ham learned to love the seesaw panda bears.

And I remember how content and safe Murphy must have felt knowing Henry was confined to the exersaucer and how sad she must have been when he slowly transitioned out of it knowing her safety was compromised.

Poor Murphy.

I really did love that little exersaucer that seemed to bring Ham joy for months and months and me peace of mind to do things like wash the dishes and fold clothes. Now I as I fold cloths I have a little guy a few feet over unfolding them and folding them HIS way and I as I load my dishwasher, I have a little guy unloading it.

Oh, well.

Taking it easy

In this break between semesters, Ham and I have managed to keep ourselves pretty busy. We visited Mr. Yardbird, I picked up embroidary, I learned some new crock pot recipes, I went to a festival, we bought a pool, we cleaned the house and we hosted a bachlorette girls night.

And tomorrow we have orientation for.....day care! Ahhh!!

So many changes are headed our way, it will be nice to sit back and enjoy the summer.

Here's some of things we have been busy doing:

Hanging out with our favorite person

Owie and his band at the festival

Sally and me

Cousins!

Swimming!!