Harrison is by no means a morning person. He takes a good hour or more to wake up, and beware to the person who tries to be in-his-face-and-cheerful. The reward for your efforts will be at most a tantrum and tears, and at the very least a firm "NO!" There are exceptions to this rule. Some mornings he wakes and shouts a cheerful, singsong "Good morning!" when you open his door, then gallops into our main rooms ready to take on the day. But most days he needs that hour, and I am wholly convinced that he will be a coffee drinker when he is old enough to enjoy its effects.
This morning Harry gathered his blankets and milk, laid down on the edge of our dining room rug, and stared out the sliding glass door at the world outside. I gently asked him what he was doing, and he said "Birds. Hear them? Pool. Hear it? Mmmmmmm," and then sighed contentedly. His quiet moments convince me that beneath his exterior of constant movement, climbing, running, galloping, clever antics and wicked sense of humor, our boy is a dreamer and a thinker. In a world where it seems children need a constant onslaught of toys, video games, and television to amuse them, Harry chooses to gaze out the window and listen to the birds calling across the yard. He would happily reside in our backyard, coming inside only for food and water, if we let him. He is a child who appreciates quiet places, the sight of bugs flitting back and forth in a shaft of late afternoon sunlight, and the joy of blowing dandelion seeds into the wind.
My only hope is that we can nourish his quiet side against the tide of activities, the Pied Piper's call of the glowing square screens, and the ever increasing technology and marketing so cleverly designed to suck kids in. And at the same time I recognize the need for our children to compete in a society where those things are the norm. I think living where we do, within minutes of farms and open space, mountains and rivers, gives us an edge in creating that balance.
And on the other hand, while living here gives us access to those quiet places, I recognize that it also limits our access to diversity of people, culture, and custom. We'll need to work extra hard to expose our children to the differences that exist, the nuances of character and beliefs that work together to create a rich texture of life in our world.
This parenting thing, it's tough. For now, we're going to get dressed and head outside, where the sunshine beckons and the day promises to be hot. And while we're watching the bugs, inspecting the new plants that grow taller each day, and talking about all of the different species in nature, I hope that Harry begins to understand that our individual differences are what make us stronger as a whole, whether we're bugs, plants, or people.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Universe Has An Unfortunate Sense Of Humor
Harrison was sick this weekend, probably the sickest he has been since joining our family. There were several changes of bedding, many baths taken, a bucket took up residence beside his bed, and there were many many sleepless hours at night. He is on the mend now, making demands for all kinds of stomach illness inducing foods (raisins, fruit, apple juice, cheese, etc) which make me cringe, but I am happy that he is at least interested in eating for the first time in three days.
Would it not be my luck that the very day I need to do the most loads of disgusting laundry in my adult life, we notice that the ground is bubbling over the septic tank? No, I do not jest. There was a load of laundry in the washing machine and Brendan saw bubbles seeping up out of a small puddle near the septic tank. To our credit, it had rained heavily the night before so the puddle over the septic itself was not an indicator of trouble, especially since Charlotte the Beagle had recently dig a hole in the vicinity. We tend to get puddles all over the place when it rains. But this was different because the ground was boiling, or so it appeared. Upon closer inspection it was decided that a call to a septic company was in order, stat.
Long story short, we had the tank pumped, the filter cleaned, and made acquaintance with one of the nicest septic guys you'd ever care to meet. If you live near me you may call for his number should a similar occasion bubble up in your back yard. Apparently we may have a drip or leak or toilet running somewhere in the house, which we will investigate this week. And just so you know, your septic tank is like your car. It requires maintenance every 2-3 years to keep things running smoothly, no matter how big the tank. We knew this and I thought we were about due to have something done, but in the course of everyday life it continued to slip my mind until a real problem arose.
Today we're back to the daily grind, finishing up the 30 loads of laundry that need doing, and gazing out the back door at the sunshine sparkling on the water of our pool. And feeling very thankful that little Mr. H is feeling better, of course.
Would it not be my luck that the very day I need to do the most loads of disgusting laundry in my adult life, we notice that the ground is bubbling over the septic tank? No, I do not jest. There was a load of laundry in the washing machine and Brendan saw bubbles seeping up out of a small puddle near the septic tank. To our credit, it had rained heavily the night before so the puddle over the septic itself was not an indicator of trouble, especially since Charlotte the Beagle had recently dig a hole in the vicinity. We tend to get puddles all over the place when it rains. But this was different because the ground was boiling, or so it appeared. Upon closer inspection it was decided that a call to a septic company was in order, stat.
Long story short, we had the tank pumped, the filter cleaned, and made acquaintance with one of the nicest septic guys you'd ever care to meet. If you live near me you may call for his number should a similar occasion bubble up in your back yard. Apparently we may have a drip or leak or toilet running somewhere in the house, which we will investigate this week. And just so you know, your septic tank is like your car. It requires maintenance every 2-3 years to keep things running smoothly, no matter how big the tank. We knew this and I thought we were about due to have something done, but in the course of everyday life it continued to slip my mind until a real problem arose.
Today we're back to the daily grind, finishing up the 30 loads of laundry that need doing, and gazing out the back door at the sunshine sparkling on the water of our pool. And feeling very thankful that little Mr. H is feeling better, of course.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Harry's Friday Funnies
"Mmm! I love it!" he says, unprompted and with a completely surprised inflection when we give him a sip of soda at Mr. Subb.
"Perfect, guys, perfect!" he shouts while watching the pool installers do their work in the early hours of this morning.
The pool is in! It is huge and it is empty, for the most part. Our installer asked us to wait until the weather warms up a little before filling it so the liner will stretch appropriately. The pool water people (a separate entity) say that Mike, our installer, is the best in the business and what he says goes. So we wait. It is very pretty, and very very big. Or at least it seems very big without the water and without a deck leading up to it, and probably because our eyes aren't used to seeing it filling that formerly empty piece of yard. The installers were here at 6am sharp, and we dove out of bed and got dressed before they knocked on the door. Harry, too, awoke to the sounds of big trucks, and stood at the window literally quivering with excitement at the real live digger in his very own backyard. It was a good day in the life of Harry. We are pleased, too, and quite eager to see it filled with sparkling clear summer fun. Harry's demands for pool time can be heard ringing through the neighborhood, and I am not quite sure how long he will be willing to wait before having his maiden voyage into the water, chilly weather or no. I should just buy stock in sunblock companies now.
Emma is asleep in the mei tai on my back, snoring gently in that adorable way only babies seem able to manage. She is the easiest baby ever, and we are very lucky.
"Perfect, guys, perfect!" he shouts while watching the pool installers do their work in the early hours of this morning.
The pool is in! It is huge and it is empty, for the most part. Our installer asked us to wait until the weather warms up a little before filling it so the liner will stretch appropriately. The pool water people (a separate entity) say that Mike, our installer, is the best in the business and what he says goes. So we wait. It is very pretty, and very very big. Or at least it seems very big without the water and without a deck leading up to it, and probably because our eyes aren't used to seeing it filling that formerly empty piece of yard. The installers were here at 6am sharp, and we dove out of bed and got dressed before they knocked on the door. Harry, too, awoke to the sounds of big trucks, and stood at the window literally quivering with excitement at the real live digger in his very own backyard. It was a good day in the life of Harry. We are pleased, too, and quite eager to see it filled with sparkling clear summer fun. Harry's demands for pool time can be heard ringing through the neighborhood, and I am not quite sure how long he will be willing to wait before having his maiden voyage into the water, chilly weather or no. I should just buy stock in sunblock companies now.
Emma is asleep in the mei tai on my back, snoring gently in that adorable way only babies seem able to manage. She is the easiest baby ever, and we are very lucky.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Staring At The Walls
This happens almost every weekday. The house falls quiet as my children slumber, their afternoon dreams taking them on adventures I'll never know of, and I gather a snack and a drink to sit with my laptop and write. And then my mind goes blank. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. A blank page in front of me makes my thoughts retreat these days, and although I can think of a zillion good stories while the kids are awake and in need of my attention, I forget to write them down on a list and then I have nothing to offer you, my dear, faithful, starving readers. Instead, as I do on most days, I sit here and listen to the wind blowing in the brand new leaves outside, and the faint tinkle of the windchimes that hang on my front porch. I stare at the walls. I look out the windows at the bright sunshine; I listen to the birds singing in the trees. Occasionally a chipmunk will scurry past and I will think to myself that he seems far too busy for such a peaceful hour. It's not that I have nothing to do, oh no! It's that for this one hour I need to have some quiet so that I can find the ME that is hidden inside of my various roles all day. The ME that is not labeled wife, mother, daughter, or friend. In the quiet I can bring myself back to center, and I sit here thinking and taking stock of myself until I hear an irresistible cry coming from down the hall that tells me one of my babies is awake. And when they wake up I snap back into place, my afternoon's reflections slipping away for another day, but I feel refreshed and ready to take on the pre-dinner hour, our witching hour in this house, when all is chaos and movement and loud voices.
I remember my SIL telling me that she had a friend with a new baby, and that when the baby napped she didn't watch TV, get a head start on dinner, or work on a project. Instead she sat and stared at the walls because she was tired and just needed TO BE. Until I was a mom I didn't understand that at all, but now I find myself staring at the walls, too. I'm guessing we're not alone in this seemingly odd habit.
****
And because I don't want to bore you to death, I will taunt you with some little funny bits of Harry:
When he dropped his bowl of popcorn on the floor and Charlotte the Beagle started to eat it: "Oh, Man! No, no, no bad girl! Give it back!"
Whenever he drops something, makes a mess, or does something wrong: "It's ok. Mommy clean it up."
We worked on potty training last week, and he said as I tucked him in for his nap: "Daddy a big boy, uses potty. Mommy a big boy, uses potty. Harry a big boy, too!" That's right, we're all big boys in this house.
He was playing with bowls and spoons in the sand one day and I asked him what he was doing. "Cooking!" he yelled happily. What are you cooking, I asked. He turned to me, rolled his eyes, and said, "Sand."
Looking through a picture book, Harry asked what a certain photograph showed. It was a swimming tube for children, so I answered 'swimming tube'. "Swimming boobs!" he agreed happily.
When Charlotte the Beagle stole his carrot: "Get back here, naughty girl!"
When my mom took him out to lunch last week, he slid out of the booth and stated "Be right back" with a devilish grin.
Our boy, he keeps us in stitches. The questions about male and female anatomy have started (oy!) and let's just say the conversations are very amusing, but in an effort to not get spammed by adult sites I won't go into detail here. Have a funny kid story? Share!
I remember my SIL telling me that she had a friend with a new baby, and that when the baby napped she didn't watch TV, get a head start on dinner, or work on a project. Instead she sat and stared at the walls because she was tired and just needed TO BE. Until I was a mom I didn't understand that at all, but now I find myself staring at the walls, too. I'm guessing we're not alone in this seemingly odd habit.
****
And because I don't want to bore you to death, I will taunt you with some little funny bits of Harry:
When he dropped his bowl of popcorn on the floor and Charlotte the Beagle started to eat it: "Oh, Man! No, no, no bad girl! Give it back!"
Whenever he drops something, makes a mess, or does something wrong: "It's ok. Mommy clean it up."
We worked on potty training last week, and he said as I tucked him in for his nap: "Daddy a big boy, uses potty. Mommy a big boy, uses potty. Harry a big boy, too!" That's right, we're all big boys in this house.
He was playing with bowls and spoons in the sand one day and I asked him what he was doing. "Cooking!" he yelled happily. What are you cooking, I asked. He turned to me, rolled his eyes, and said, "Sand."
Looking through a picture book, Harry asked what a certain photograph showed. It was a swimming tube for children, so I answered 'swimming tube'. "Swimming boobs!" he agreed happily.
When Charlotte the Beagle stole his carrot: "Get back here, naughty girl!"
When my mom took him out to lunch last week, he slid out of the booth and stated "Be right back" with a devilish grin.
Our boy, he keeps us in stitches. The questions about male and female anatomy have started (oy!) and let's just say the conversations are very amusing, but in an effort to not get spammed by adult sites I won't go into detail here. Have a funny kid story? Share!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Second Child Syndrome
It has already begun. There are perhaps a thousand pictures of Harry's first year home. He is posed with each new person he met, grandparents, great-grandparents, our friends, other babies we know, etc. Emma? Not so much.
The problem with taking pictures of a second child, I think, is that your hands are still full of the first child. I don't have enough hands to make it all happen. I have lots of pictures of her during Harry's naptimes, when it is just the two of us playing on the floor, and I have lots of blurry pictures of the two of them together. But I have not taken a single picture of her meeting anyone. Bad mommy.
What I do have are movies. It took me until Harry was more than a year old to remember that our digital camera could take short movies, and I never really took many of him even when I did remember. Emma, however, has movies of using her walker, tearing around the room and screeching at the dogs. We have video of her learning to crawl, eating, and "talking" to Harry.
And what I lack in photographic evidence, I have written here.
**********
For all of you, a little update on our beloved Second Child:
She loves all fruits. Green vegetables are not acceptable, but yellow and orange will be dealt with on a case by case basis. Rice cereal will not make her gag if you mix in apple juice. When she rules the world, blueberries will be served at every meal. She likes her formula thick and warm - no cold bottles for her delicate system, and don't try to sneak a cold one in because she'll take a bunch in and then spit it all over you. Eww.
She thinks she can walk and she is probably not too far from learning how. She doesn't care very much about crawling, but can inchworm just fine when something drool-worthy is within a few feet of her. In her walker she is a danger to our feet, and scares Harry. And the dogs. And us, a little. This must be where the term "ankle biter" stems from, because when that plastic rim hits your foot or ankle it hurts like...you get the idea.
She can roll over, touch her toes to the top of her head, and sit up steadily if you leave her in a seated position. She cannot yet get into a seated position by herself, but she tries all of the time and I don't think it will be long before she can. She loves to stand up. She will gladly hold the side of her crib or pack'n'play for a very long time, peering out over the rim at the world contained within our walls. While standing she smiles and chatters at us.
She is working on her pincher grasp. She can pick up Cheerios that way (occasionally...usually she she picks them up with her fist) and bring them to her mouth, but she doesn't yet understand that she has to let them go in order to eat. We are working on this with her. She eats baby crackers just fine by herself.
She is sleeping really well in her crib at night and for naps. She infrequently needs me to sleep with her, which is completely normal, and I just tuck us both into the twin bed in her room. She ALWAYS wakes up with a smile on her face. Always. The happiest baby ever, she is. She also likes to catnap in the Mei tai carrier I made. I call it the "instant baby sleep maker" because she nods off within seconds of being strapped to me.
Her hair cannot be kept down. Oh, you can try to squash it with a hat, but the minute she sweats just a little bit (and she has a very sweaty head) the hair rises all on its own, one strand at a time, until it is all sticking up in the finest display of baby chick fuzz you ever did see. I love it! She looks funny to me when her hair isn't sticking up, so much so that I think I will be a little sad when it grows out and starts hanging down.
Her fingernails grow like crazy. I have cut them no fewer than four times in the four weeks we have been home, and I should cut them today. Her toenails grow slower, but still faster than I would have expected.
She could care less about the TV. It is of no interest to her and is, in fact, quite beneath her. Do not bother to try and let her watch Baby Einstein videos, as she will turn in the other direction and pretend there is nothing going on behind her back. This is not sight or hearing issue, as she wakes up at the very slightest noise made by her exuberant brother, and she can spot her bottle from half a house away. No, she just has no use for brain rotting light boxes. Good for her. Except the computer, which she adores with an unexplained passion.
Teeth. She has three, all on the bottom, and number four is well on its way to making an appearance. The drool is out of control. We average three outfits a day because of the drool. Formula drool smells bad. Not as bad as formula spit-up, but still not good. I know you don't want to read about it, so moving right along...
You may not run water in the house without sharing it with Emma. This includes dish washing and laundry. Water must be watched, touched, and played with. If you dare to give someone a bath without her she will work her way into the bathroom and yell at you, no joke. it is easier to just share and clean up the splashy mess later, in my opinion.
Our girl, she appreciates good scheduling. Naps are at 9:00am and 2:00pm, precisely. Bedtime is slightly more flexible, but only by 15 minutes or so: between 7:45 and 8:00pm. If you try for an early nap you will spend the extra time settling her down for the nap, so you might as well wait until she wants to go down. If you are late, well, good luck to you. One crabby baby is what you'll have, and crabby babies don't fall asleep easily in my experience. She is equally demanding about eating. Solid foods are expected at 8am, noon, and 5pm. Bottles are more flexible, but she asks for them so that makes things simpler. I am unused to such rigidity, but I am adjusting. I just don't know how I'll ever grocery shop again.
She has two words in Korean, Omma and mama, mom and bottle respectively. She also babbles a great deal, and excels at yelling and screeching with her brother. They adore each other, until she touches something of Harry's and he says "no no no, bad girl" (which he gets from us telling the dogs 'bad girl', not the baby, BTW). He is getting better every day, and we know they'll be thick as thieves before long.
We're all well, happy, and getting adjusted to this new version of our family. We are accepting visitors and dinner invitations. We are looking forward to the delivery of our pool next week (did I not mention the pool? Oh, it comes on Friday, Casey's 16th birthday!), and we are also accepting help with yard work. Yes, I know full well that we won't get offers on that last one, but you can't blame a girl for trying, right?
Saturday, May 5, 2007
The Burning Question
Since my return from Korea, and our family's emergence from a self-inflicted period of nuclear family togetherness and isolation, we have been out and about mingling with family, friends, and neighbors. When people learn that I went to Korea to meet Emma and bring her home, they have one burning question:
What is it really like?
I'm not sure what answer people expect or hope for when they ask this question. Are they wondering just how "foreign" the country and its people seemed? Are they expecting me to give them some sort of American spin on the status of Korea today? I just don't know what it is they think they want to hear, partially because I was only in one corner of one city for less than 72 hours. I think what they really want to know is how different it is, how different, or "better", we are. I do know, without a doubt, what my answer to the question is.
When I close my eyes I can picture Korea in my mind, snapshots of the things we saw dance beneath my eyelids, and I am once again walking through the streets of Seoul, avoiding mopeds and motorcycles on the sidewalk, and trying to figure out where to eat dinner. The thing that stands out to me in all of those mental snapshots is how alike we are; people are people all the world over.*
On our drive from the airport to ESWS, we saw families playing in the park. Mothers chased after young children, toddlers grinned from ear to ear from a perch on their fathers' shoulders, and young couples in love held hands. Older kids kicked a soccer ball back and forth. A dog ran after a ball. There were strollers, picnic blankets, and bicycles.
As we walked around the area in which Eastern is located, we saw people window shopping as they walked past stores. In the Hyundai Department store women dug through bargain bins full of children's clothing, looking for a deal. There were vendors on the sidewalk selling anything and everything, from flowers to t-shirts, from bulgogi to strawberries, trying to make a living. In any American city, from Seattle to NY, you'll see the same thing.
In Insadong we saw tourists of all nationalities taking pictures, running their fingers over the beautiful cloth table runners, looking for the best deal in souvenirs. At lunchtime we saw a mad rush of people heading for their favorite restaurants. When we peeked in the windows of those same restaurants, we saw the lunch rush of people smiling, laughing, and engaging with each other. Does that seem foreign to you?
I will never understand why some people insist on believing that we are so different. Why does it need to be "us" and "them"? Why not just "we"? Because We are ALL people. WE ALL share this earth. WE ALL have mothers,fathers, a family, a job, responsibilities, etc. I know that cultural differences are real. I know values differ from one area of the world to the next. I know that. But at the bottom of all of that, beneath national pride, religious preference, language, and the way way we look, lie the very things that make us the same.
What was it really like? It was really like home. People are people all of the world over. Mothers are still mothers, daughters are still daughters, friends are still friends. The scenery may change, language may differ, but people are people all the world over.
*Sorry for stealing your words, Mom.
What is it really like?
I'm not sure what answer people expect or hope for when they ask this question. Are they wondering just how "foreign" the country and its people seemed? Are they expecting me to give them some sort of American spin on the status of Korea today? I just don't know what it is they think they want to hear, partially because I was only in one corner of one city for less than 72 hours. I think what they really want to know is how different it is, how different, or "better", we are. I do know, without a doubt, what my answer to the question is.
When I close my eyes I can picture Korea in my mind, snapshots of the things we saw dance beneath my eyelids, and I am once again walking through the streets of Seoul, avoiding mopeds and motorcycles on the sidewalk, and trying to figure out where to eat dinner. The thing that stands out to me in all of those mental snapshots is how alike we are; people are people all the world over.*
On our drive from the airport to ESWS, we saw families playing in the park. Mothers chased after young children, toddlers grinned from ear to ear from a perch on their fathers' shoulders, and young couples in love held hands. Older kids kicked a soccer ball back and forth. A dog ran after a ball. There were strollers, picnic blankets, and bicycles.
As we walked around the area in which Eastern is located, we saw people window shopping as they walked past stores. In the Hyundai Department store women dug through bargain bins full of children's clothing, looking for a deal. There were vendors on the sidewalk selling anything and everything, from flowers to t-shirts, from bulgogi to strawberries, trying to make a living. In any American city, from Seattle to NY, you'll see the same thing.
In Insadong we saw tourists of all nationalities taking pictures, running their fingers over the beautiful cloth table runners, looking for the best deal in souvenirs. At lunchtime we saw a mad rush of people heading for their favorite restaurants. When we peeked in the windows of those same restaurants, we saw the lunch rush of people smiling, laughing, and engaging with each other. Does that seem foreign to you?
I will never understand why some people insist on believing that we are so different. Why does it need to be "us" and "them"? Why not just "we"? Because We are ALL people. WE ALL share this earth. WE ALL have mothers,fathers, a family, a job, responsibilities, etc. I know that cultural differences are real. I know values differ from one area of the world to the next. I know that. But at the bottom of all of that, beneath national pride, religious preference, language, and the way way we look, lie the very things that make us the same.
What was it really like? It was really like home. People are people all of the world over. Mothers are still mothers, daughters are still daughters, friends are still friends. The scenery may change, language may differ, but people are people all the world over.
*Sorry for stealing your words, Mom.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Huddle Bay
When my mother and her sisters were very young, my grandparents brought them to Huddle Bay on Lake George. My grandfather sailed with his brother, and there are multitudes of pictures of the five daughters jumping off the dock into the clear water. There are pictures of my grandmother sitting with her friends, looking stylish and poised despite having five kids to look after. Maybe her sunglasses hide the shadows that I think must have been under her eyes? To me, Huddle Bay seemed a place that existed only long ago and far away, in black and white pictures taken by my grandfather.
Yesterday I had to get out of the house. Neither child would sleep at naptime and out of desperation I thought a drive in the car would be just the thing to lull them into deep dreams. I didn't know where to go, so I went north, and found myself driving along the shore of Lake George...the west shore. After the village I took a right onto 9N and headed for Diamond Point. The lake looked beautiful; sunshine sparkled off the water, and there was color everywhere. Purple mountains, bright green new leaves, red buds on the maple trees, piercing yellow forsythia, and the bluest of skies made my drive a feast for the eyes. I My babies, although still not sleepy, were calmed by the view and the ride, so I kept going. And suddenly came upon a sign that said "Huddle Beach Road".
I turned around and followed the road to find a very small beach at the end, with a long dock and beautiful view of the Lake. I have no idea if this is where my mom's family came all of those years ago, but it was lovely so we stopped and got out of the car.
After our brief time at Huddle Beach Emma needed a bottle, which gave me time to take a few close-up pictures of her in good light.
"But wait!" you say, "Why are there no new pictures of Harry?"
I tried, but all I can get out of him right now is:
He's a stinker. You'll have to take my word for it that he is handsome and lively and adorable.
Yesterday I had to get out of the house. Neither child would sleep at naptime and out of desperation I thought a drive in the car would be just the thing to lull them into deep dreams. I didn't know where to go, so I went north, and found myself driving along the shore of Lake George...the west shore. After the village I took a right onto 9N and headed for Diamond Point. The lake looked beautiful; sunshine sparkled off the water, and there was color everywhere. Purple mountains, bright green new leaves, red buds on the maple trees, piercing yellow forsythia, and the bluest of skies made my drive a feast for the eyes. I My babies, although still not sleepy, were calmed by the view and the ride, so I kept going. And suddenly came upon a sign that said "Huddle Beach Road".
I turned around and followed the road to find a very small beach at the end, with a long dock and beautiful view of the Lake. I have no idea if this is where my mom's family came all of those years ago, but it was lovely so we stopped and got out of the car.
After our brief time at Huddle Beach Emma needed a bottle, which gave me time to take a few close-up pictures of her in good light.
"But wait!" you say, "Why are there no new pictures of Harry?"
I tried, but all I can get out of him right now is:
He's a stinker. You'll have to take my word for it that he is handsome and lively and adorable.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Either Someone Is Living In Our Garage...
...Or the overhead door light has a mind of its own.
This morning at 3:30am I came downstairs to see what Little Miss Emma was up to (there were happy baby noises over the monitor) and saw the garage light was on. I guessed one of us had flipped the switch after dark and forgot to turn it off before going to bed. I'll admit that my heart raced a little because A) I am a chicken at night and B) we do live just a mile or two from a state prison...ok, it is a minimum security prison, but the inmates do escape with alarming frequency. Anyway, when I left Emma sleeping soundly in her crib 15 minutes later,the light was off. I RAN up the stairs to bed, scared Brendan half to death by telling him about the light situation, and was told that it happens all the time. Good to know. You know, so I don't have heart failure in the wee hours of the morning.
This morning at 3:30am I came downstairs to see what Little Miss Emma was up to (there were happy baby noises over the monitor) and saw the garage light was on. I guessed one of us had flipped the switch after dark and forgot to turn it off before going to bed. I'll admit that my heart raced a little because A) I am a chicken at night and B) we do live just a mile or two from a state prison...ok, it is a minimum security prison, but the inmates do escape with alarming frequency. Anyway, when I left Emma sleeping soundly in her crib 15 minutes later,the light was off. I RAN up the stairs to bed, scared Brendan half to death by telling him about the light situation, and was told that it happens all the time. Good to know. You know, so I don't have heart failure in the wee hours of the morning.
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