grandparental report

This story comes from my parents, who take Andy every Tuesday so Shawn and I can have a date.

Tonight they took him to Uncle Pete's, a riverfront restaurant with a close view of the bridges and the barges that go by. Andy loves these things, and perhaps his favorite thing is the tunnel. But of course, he couldn't see the tunnel from his seat on the deck because there were buildings in the way. His grandparents tried to explain to him that the tunnel was behind those buildings.

So he turned to the waitress and yelled across the restaurant.

"Hey lady! Can you move those buildings so I can see the tunnel?"

this is why

This is why we're bad parents:

Andy was on his swing and wanted his father's attention. We were talking and ignoring him because he's got a real problem with butting into our conversations of late. We continued to ignore him.

So he yelled to his father, "I'm talking to you, schmuck!!!"

We had a little talk after that.

(Of course, from whom do you think he learned that word to begin with?)

he's joking, right?

Andy was in his swing yesterday and he was, as usual, griping about something. Something about Nugget.

I asked, "Andy, do you want to get out of the swing and play with Nugget?"

"Nooooo!"

"Why not?"

"Because she's always biting my nipples!"

If this is true, then we either have a major problem or a potential money-maker on our hands.

little sneak

Andy: Mommy, can you carry me down the stairs?

Me: No, Andy.

Andy: Mommy, can you hug me down the stairs?

pee-yew

It's a hot and muggy day. Something around the general vicinity of Andy's big sandbox doesn't smell very good. In fact, it smells very bad.

Now with a 6 foot by 6 foot sandbox, you've got some serious acreage for local kitties to utilize for their toilet. So naturally I went out and bought a sandbox cover that fits beautifully and keeps the sand nice and clean. But...I will be the first to admit that I do, on occasion, forget to go out in the dark or the rain and take 5 minutes to fasten all the snaps. Especially in June thunderstorms. So what I'm smelling is, in all likelihood, exactly what I think I'm smelling.

I say, "Is there cat poop in the sandbox?"

Andy replies, "Nooooooooo", as he continues to dig around in God-knows-what.

"Then why does it stink so bad?"

"It stinks great!"

after the zoo

In the car:

Me: Did you have a good time Andy?

Him: No. I didn't have a good time.

Me: You didn't?

Him: NO MOMMY! If you don't stop talking you're going to have to stand in the corner.

Me: Andy! Stop mouthing off! I am sick of your smart mouth.

Him: I am sick of your smart mouth.

Me: Yes.

Him: Yes.

Me: Andy...are you repeating what I'm saying?

Him: Mommy, are you repeating what I'm saying?

Me: Andy, are you being a copy cat?

Him: Mommy, are you being a coffee cat?

no kidding

This morning Andy and I had a bickering session about something. I don't even remember what the subject was.

Exasperated, I finally sighed and said, "Andy, you are very frustrating. Do you know that?"

To my utter shock, he replied, "Yeah, I've heard that before."

As I live and breathe, he said that to me.

every single day

Me: Andy, it's about time for a nap.
Him: NOOOO!
Me: Come on, honey. Nap time.
Him: NOOOOOOOOO!

He tries to run away. I grab the back of his shirt. He screams. SCREAMS and squirms away. He climbs onto the couch. I reach for him. He climbs onto the end table next to my favorite lamp and says,

"If you don't stop chasing me I'm going to hide!"

I reach down and pick him up. He screams, thrashes and yells. I tuck him under my arm like a duffel bag, kicking and shrieking. I carry him up the stairs, kicking and shrieking. I toss (literally) him over the rail of his crib and he lands on his mattress, kicking and shrieking. I close the blinds and turn on the ocean-sounds machine.

Me: Andy, would you like me to tuck you in?

Pouting in the corner: No! I'm mad at you Mommy. I don't like you.
Me: Okay, Andy. Good night.

Him: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaait! Mommy you forgot to tuck me in! Mommeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I turn around, come back into the room and approach the crib. He holds out his arms and says, "Mommy, I need a hug and a kiss." I hug him, kiss his teary face and he drops to the mattress. Finally.

I'm serious when I say that this happens every single day lately.

more ouch

When he woke up from a late nap, he was seriously grumpy.

Andy: Daddy I don't like you.

Shawn: Why not Andy?

Andy: Daddy stop talking. There's no talking in the house.

Shawn: What?

Andy: You're going to have to go to the garbage, Daddy, because I said no talking.

ouch

After a day at work, I picked Andy up from school at 3 today. I was excited to see him because I'd missed the little buggar and had been looking at his photo.

Me: Hi Andy!

Andy: I didn't have a good day, Mommy.

Me: Andy, why not?

Andy: Can you not talk to me Mommy? I don't want you to talk to me. There's no talking in the car.

Me: What's wrong buddy?

Andy: I don't like you Mommy. Stop talking to me.

a bad shirt

Andy is, of late, what I would generally call a "hot mess". He's uber-sensitive about everything. He cries at the drop of a hat. He pouts. He whines. If he points out a truck and it's actually a steam roller, he sticks out his bottom lip, cries and tells you to go away and that he doesn't like you any more. It's awful. I think my recent decision to work 3 days a week is behind it, because now he attends 3 full days of preschool, and refuses to take a nap with the other children. Consequently, his circadian rhythms are totally off, and he's upset at the newest change in his school schedule too.

Anyway, one of his newest annoying things is a serious pickiness about his clothing. He hates 90% of what he wears and thus he wears the same few outfits over and over and over until they're disgusting and stainy.

So today I offered him a choice of two shirts. Both of which he hated. I told him he had to chose one of them so he chose the red train shirt. But in order to get him to actually wear it I had to promise that we'd put a coat over the shirt so nobody would see it. He wore the coat in 77-degree weather with 75% humidity for 4 hours. I had to wrestle him out of it after lunch for a nap.

When I got the coat off I hoped he'd forget about his despised train shirt. But he didn't.

Andy: Mommy can you take my train shirt off?

Me: Why, doodlebug?

Andy: Because I don't like it and I don't want to wear it.

Me: Why don't you like your nice train shirt, Andy?

Andy: Because it's too RED!

the cruelest baby

Andy peed on the potty this morning. He always gets a potty treat when he does: a few M&Ms. Today though, he wanted a lollipop, which we reserve for a successful #2 on the potty. He kept saying, "I want a lollipop!"

Finally Shawn said, "Andy, no. You had M&Ms already."

In his characteristic pouty way, Andy said, "Daddy doesn't love me anymore."

Poor Shawn just about cried. It was a mean, mean toddler trick. He's no dummy. He hits you where it hurts.

not the face!

This isn't a funny blog, for once, but it's an Andy story that I'm sure I'll never forget.

Last night was Andy's first (real) trip to the ER. We'd hosted a dinner party and as I was helping our company down the ridiculously long sidewalk to their car, this was unfolding: Andy was charged up by the presence of his father and his puppy who were wrestling together. He started doing a classic Andy move - the spin. He spins around in circles until he crashes into something.

Well, he did crash into something. With his face.

He landed, face-first, on the raised wooden rim of his train table, and when Shawn heard the thwack he knew it was bad. Andy stood up clutching his nose and when Shawn pulled his hands away he saw a 1-inch gash right under Andy's nostrils. It bled and bled and when I walked back into my kitchen thinking about the successful dinner party we'd had with Molly and Thomas and the children, I was confronted with my bloody little boy in hysterics. We checked him out for a few minutes and it became rapidly clear that he needed stitches, so off to the ER we went.

I was amazed at how placid everybody at the ER is when a child is bleeding. It obviously wasn't life-or-death, so we had to 'check in', sit in the waiting room, register (ocean view or poolside?) and then wait a while in the back area. (A little girl with obvious pinkeye was right behind us so that added a nice element of 'ick' to the whole scene.)

Anyway, to make a long story short, they were kind enough to use a numbing substance on Andy's laceration before they used the lidocaine. They said it would decrease the pain of the shot by about 50% but that it would still hurt him. He had to sit with this substance on his nose for about 15 minutes and while he did he calmed down. We sang some songs and laughed a little bit. But it was terrible for me because I knew when those 15 minutes were up that I was going to have to hold down my little boy as they put a needle in his open laceration. I thought I was going to puke, seriously.

When the time finally did come, they practically had to wrench him from my grip. To make matters worse, they laid him down on a sheet and then wrapped his arms to his sides so he couldn't squirm. Which was good, but was awful at the same time. They tied down my baby boy! A nurse held his head and Shawn and I held his feet, which was terrible. When they gave him the shot they said he'd really cry. But to their utter amazement, he only whimpered. It clearly hurt and he squeezed out some tears, but the doctor and nurses said that most children screamed and thrashed during this part.

I, meanwhile, turned my head, put it on Shawn's shoulder, and bawled like a little weiner. I didn't let Andy see me, of course, but it was just about the worst thing ever. Once he was numb he didn't cry much. He did a little more whimpering as they stitched him, and I watched to keep eye contact with him but hated watching them put a needle through my little boy's face. They had to put in six stitches. Quite a lot. It took forever, it seemed. During the sewing, he told them about the diggers he'd seen during the day, and about the baby groundhogs we have in our yard. The nurses said what a brave boy he was and complemented us several times on what a beautiful face he has.

Well, duh.

Of course, now that beautiful, perfect face will have a big scar under the beautiful, perfect nose. The stitches make him look a little like Hitler. When they sat him up he was well past any tears and I promptly dug out a candy bar from my purse and he gobbled it, numb lip and all. Had my mother been there she would have probably met him in the parking lot with a pony.

Being a boy, I know this is likely the first of many ER trips. I tell you though, that was awful for a mom to endure. But when we got home, the first thing he did was go right back to his train table, the source of the injury, and he had to be dragged away from his beloved trains for bed at 10:30pm.

Boys.