Bathtub Bakery

Tonight. Bitty Girl in the bathtub. She's sitting with her back to me, whipping up her latest concoction with her favorite pots and pans.

Bitty: (very declarative tone) Meat.
Me: Are you making some meat? What else is in there?
Bitty: Eggs.
Me: What are you making?
Bitty: (emphatically) Cake.
Me: Meat and Egg cake - yummy!

Don't all rush over to our bakery at once.

Mean Green Casted Machine

Monday update: The cast is on, in all its glory. Thank God is all I have to say. I am exhausted from worrying about him in that splint. He went back to school today--hope the cast is still intact.
The Arm during a Weekend Unveiling (it was never very swollen)


Fish Lips pose with his splint (especially for Nanny)

Cast Day
Step 1: Lovely cotton sleeve to soak up the sweat and get all stinky over the next 4 weeks

Step 2: Wrap with white fiberglass wrap - they dip this ace-bandage type thing in water and it's flexible enough to wrap for a few minutes until it dries. The guy was a super fast casting expert!

Step 3: The cool part - wrap with GREEN cast stuff. He got to choose his color! Notice how The Boy took this very seriously. He has been amazing through the whole thing, actually.

Step 4: Pose for picture with awesome green cast! At least indulge silly Mommy with her camera! But you have to admit he's darling!!!

One Little Monkey

It was the monkey bars. The Boy had finally conquered them, and could swing all the way across. Then Thursday afternoon, one bad jump and one big thump. Monkey bars 1, The Boy 0 (zero meaning one broken arm).

Much crying, but calmed down after some ice, and actually went to dinner and home and bed. Friday morning we decided the small bit of swelling plus the anticipation of Saturday swimming and Sunday t-ball warranted a visit to the doctor. X-ray confirmed that we're not such worry warts after all.

You can barely even see it below, thanks to the bad scanning. But it's there. If I had Photoshop, I could draw an arrow pointing to the little bump that's not supposed to be there. The bump on the right side of the picture, near the top of his radius (the big bone) just before it goes into his wrist. The bump is more noticeable on the original picture.


He's ok, not in much pain, splinted for now, with a cast (says he'll choose green) coming on Monday. More photos coming, although the actual wrist isn't that spectacular.

Mama will feel better once he's casted. Watching him wave that thing around just makes me crazy. I went in to check on him tonight after he fell asleep, and he was seriously DANGLING his left arm off the edge of the bed. Slight heart attack and some repositioning. Now I'm worried he'll knock himself silly in his sleep when he gets the heavy cast on.

Heimlich, anyone?

The life of a second child...

She is most thrilled when she's allowed to play with her brother's tiny little toys. The above choking hazards are from his Playmobil pirate ship. Not pictured: another 20,000 tiny men and hats and feathers and swords. She was given strict instructions, along with "The LOOK," about not putting any of it in her mouth. And she didn't. She's not dumb--she knows if anything goes in her mouth, it's off limits. I was right nearby, in case anyone is thinking I've gotten that relaxed by baby #2.

When The Boy was nearly 2, not only did we not have those toys in the house, but I would barely have let him get within 10 feet of a toy that small. Haven't I come a long way?

I know they're still on the forbidden list, along with grapes, raisins, raw carrots and everything else she wants to eat. And if she choked, I would have to reevaluate my lax parenting. But until then, the wee lass is going to "Ahoy there me hearties" and "Aaargh, you're walking the plank" to her hearts' content.

Worth every penny

I will never again complain about how much we pay for preschool. The Boy was home sick Monday and Friday last week, and I have a new appreciation of how much value we are getting for our three preschool days a week.

He wasn't even that sick, but with a cough and runny nose, I just didn't feel right sending him to school to infect the masses.

But I learned how much I treasure my alone time with Bitty Girl, how little work I get done when he's home, and how much tv time he tries to weasel when he's sick.

I'm guessing that the preschool teachers learned how quiet their classrooms were without him. Maybe they even missed him--a little?

Here's to a new week, fewer tissues, and 3 Full Days of School!

T-ball, anyone?

Well, at least we don't have to stand out in the rain for t-ball practice tomorrow morning...
Thanks to some freaky weather pattern and our lovely choice of home in the famous "Convergent Zone," we are seeing this tonight...






Pat thinks it's more than mere coincidence that we have the latest spring snow in 36 years on the same day that the NBA voted to let the Sonics leave town. He thinks Mother Nature is mad. And maybe God too.

Snow was only the end of a day of hail, rain, freezing rain, slushy rain, and icy rain. Just makes you want to break out the summer clothes.

T-ball: a window on the world

The Boy has started t-ball. He could start at 5, even without being in kindergarten yet, and his team is mixed with first and second-year players. He's taken a few community center music and gymnastics classes, and a non-competitive soccer skills class, but this is his first real "team."

We have definitely stepped into a microcosm of society, this thing they call Little League. It's a big league, with about 800 kids playing all the way up to what they call "Majors." No pressure there. Fancy fields, complete with required parent fundraisers and elaborate concession stand. Must get gray baseball pants, cleats, no cup required yet (YET? THIS IS T-BALL!!!), have mitt and bat, decide on batting helmet later.

A few practices and two games later, and he loves it. Whew. Don't mind the tongue. That's just his usual photo pose for the last, oh, YEAR!



With our "slow to warm up" boy who hates new things, I was afraid we'd be dragging him to the field. He is definitely not the fastest kid on the team, and since half of them played last year, he's running to figure things out, but he's having fun. His coach is wonderful, very encouraging and fun, without the pressure I was fearing. Some of the kids are already friends, and several go to the neighboring school, where The Boy will go in September.

Watching him practice is like a workout for my heart. I don't want him to get embarrassed if he doesn't know something or can't throw as far as the other kids, or puts the batting glove on the wrong hand, or isn't the fastest kid on the team. Trying to watch him (and, at one practice, chase Bitty Girl) and meet the other parents leaves me exhausted.

I wonder how much of my anxiety he can feel? He's so much like me, and while I'm trying to look encouraging and positive, I'm afraid he can see me worry. I honestly don't care if he's the best hitter or the fastest runner--I just don't want him to feel frustrated.

Sometimes I think he'll do better if I'm not there, projecting my worries onto the field. He hasn't quite figured out yet that Daddy is a much better t-ball parent, since he can coach first base and help you put the catcher's equipment on. All Mommy does is cheer and send weird vibes.