As much as I think that I have Av down on a pretty decent routine, there are times when things just don't go the way they are supposed to. It has been a little while, but yesterday morning was one of those times. She started fussing around her usual wake up time- at or around the first time that Monica's alarm goes off- maybe around 6:30. Usually I will just roll over and go back to sleep until Monica leaves for work. The baby kills the time either by playing or by whimpering herself back to sleep, depending on how tired she is and how early she woke up. I do this because it is just easier to get her up at the same time every day, and it is easier to deal with her if she doesn't see Monica leaving for work. Always good to avoid "where is mommy going?" melt downs early in the morning. Trust me.
On this particular morning, though, she felt the need to frantically scream and cry, kicking the bars of the crib. This, of course, forced me out of bed much earlier than expected and pretty much ruined any hope we had of having a functional day. I am not sure what the problem was, but screams typically suggest that she is either extremely hungry or extremely tired, either way, she isn't going back to sleep and neither am I, so it was just best to get her up.
Her fresh attitude was quite a display as she flailed her way through the morning diaper change and in to breakfast, where she screamed at me from across the kitchen the entire time that I made her food. Feeding her was a battle, as she wanted the food but she was also intent on yelling at me ( I am still not sure why), so I essentially just had to try and sneak food in to her mouth between screams. This resulted in her spraying food all over the place and at one point flailing so much that she flung her cup of water off of the kitchen window.
As a last resort, I made her a bottle and started running her bath water, two things that always calm her down. (That bottle has her hooked, man. It is like a cigarette or a cup of coffee. I picture her hanging out by the baby section at Walmart asking for change. 'I just need to calm my nerves, man.')
The bottle worked, if for no other reason than it is impossible to scream while drinking a bottle, but the bath was an absolute disaster. She fought me and stiff-bodied me from the moment we got in to the bathroom, strange because she usually loves taking a bath, and she started screaming as soon as the wash cloth touched her skin. She was so worked up at one point that she ended up splashing herself in the face with soap, something that pissed her off like you wouldn't believe. Despite the fact that this made the screaming louder, I took some joy out of seeing that. That one was a victory for Dad.
After this, I felt it best to get her out of the tub, realizing that I had pretty much failed on every level. She hated breakfast, she hated the bath, she liked the bottle but pretended she didn't to continue proving her point to me. The only thing left to try was naked time.
Like most people probably do, Av loves naked time. It is one of those rare treats that kids get only once in a while. The freedom of running your bare ass around the house for 3-5 minutes. It must be so liberating. Anyway, I decided that naked time was my last hope. I dried her off, stood her up and told her to go for it. The screaming instantly turned to laughing. "I think I did it," I thought. Yup. I had won. Nice.
After about 30 seconds of running in a circle and laughing, Av darted in to the kitchen. I followed a few seconds behind, enjoying my first moments of silence all day, when I looked down and saw it. As she stood in front of her play kitchen, laughing, hanging from her butt was a perfectly turd shaped, well, turd. It was like slow motion. I saw it hanging, slowly slipping out. I grabbed a paper towel as quickly as possible and slid it across the floor, just in time. With the next step it broke loose, landing on the single sheet of Sparkle with a splat. Gross, I know. Just be thankful you weren't here to watch it happen, or smell the aftermath.
Maybe that was all she needed, but the post-dump day was pretty decent. We took a trip to Walmart and followed it up with a nap. I was still tired and discombobulated all day, but at least the screaming stopped. I'll call that a 1-3 day with a walk. Not too productive but, hey, at least we won the game.
Things I saw at the park today
Time for our new segment, Things I Saw at the Park Today. Inspired by, well, some crazy shit that I saw at the park today. First, let me start out by saying that today was an amazing park day. The best park day you could ask for. The sky was overcast and the breeze was just chilly enough that the temperature hovered at a comfortable 72 degrees, with no sun pounding down on our shoulders. Even better, there was a threat of rain, and even a few sprinkles at times, so we were the only people on the playground. I love this because I pretty much hate interacting with other people, Av likes it because she doesn't have to be shy or distracted by other kids and can just run around chasing birds all day.
While we were in our glorious haze of parkdom, I spotted two dirty looking hipsters walking past. Dressed in sleeveless flannel shirts, cut off jean-shorts and conductor hats, the bare-footed pair was slowly strolling down the path, pausing occasionally to look in to trees with binoculars. Birdwatchers, you ask? Something makes me doubt that. That something would be the fact that they were carrying with them a gallon jug of water and a bag full of snacks, of which they were eating while they walked. Maybe I am a little bit jaded, but that doesn't sound like a bird watching expedition to me. Upon further inspection, when we ran in to the pair back in the parking lot, the snacks consisted of peanut butter, hamburger buns and what appeared to be a chocolate Easter Bunny. (I couldn't quite tell what it was, but it was in a square, purple package.) The two grimy men gave an awkward smile as they climbed back in to their rusty, dented 1999 Dodge Caravan and proceeded to turn on some nondescript rock music, roll up the windows and put their dirty bare feet up on the dashboard, eating sandwiches.
Interestingly enough, the Dodge Caravan was one of three parked in the lot when we pulled in, and as it would turn out, the dirty, snacking hipsters may have been the most normal Caravan owners there.
After a short walk down to the shoreline and a battle over Av trying to eat a dirty piece of stale bread off of the ground (I won, but not before she got a good fistful of soil in her mouth, to which she responded "MMMMMMMM!") We saw three older men, probably in their 60's, walking three very tiny dogs. Two of the men had pugs and the third had some sort of brown mop-looking creature. This was funny enough on its own, but lagging behind the men about ten feet were six, yes that is six other dogs, all of them tiny. There were more pugs and mops and even a wiener dog, which is always a treat. The three obvious retirees stood together for a few moments and chatted while all of their little yuppie dogs caught up, and once they had, opened the doors to the two remaining Caravans and let them hop in- one by one, like it was a Disney movie.
At this point even Av had a "What the Hell is going on?" look on her face. I mean, did these guys meet at a club for retired men with tiny dogs? Did they all just decide one day over a game of poker to adopt a bunch of little dogs to cure the boredom of not working? And what is with the Caravans? I get that they have a lot of dogs to tote around, but is that a requirement of being in the group?
That last question was answered when the two Caravans left and the third man piled his pugs in to the back of a Dodge Dakota, but that is still a Dodge. Is this old man mini dog club sponsored by Chrystler? In any event, the last old man turned out to be a real nice guy, although I probably wouldn't have let him coach my kid's soccer team either (just sayin'). He carried one of the pugs, named Diesel, over to say hello to Av. Of course, she responded by burying her face in my chest and ignoring him, but the gesture was still nice.
Going to the park is always an educational experience for Av, but today instead of learning about ducks and socializing with other kids, she learned to always stay away from beat up, old Dodge Caravans. A valuable lesson none the less.
While we were in our glorious haze of parkdom, I spotted two dirty looking hipsters walking past. Dressed in sleeveless flannel shirts, cut off jean-shorts and conductor hats, the bare-footed pair was slowly strolling down the path, pausing occasionally to look in to trees with binoculars. Birdwatchers, you ask? Something makes me doubt that. That something would be the fact that they were carrying with them a gallon jug of water and a bag full of snacks, of which they were eating while they walked. Maybe I am a little bit jaded, but that doesn't sound like a bird watching expedition to me. Upon further inspection, when we ran in to the pair back in the parking lot, the snacks consisted of peanut butter, hamburger buns and what appeared to be a chocolate Easter Bunny. (I couldn't quite tell what it was, but it was in a square, purple package.) The two grimy men gave an awkward smile as they climbed back in to their rusty, dented 1999 Dodge Caravan and proceeded to turn on some nondescript rock music, roll up the windows and put their dirty bare feet up on the dashboard, eating sandwiches.
Interestingly enough, the Dodge Caravan was one of three parked in the lot when we pulled in, and as it would turn out, the dirty, snacking hipsters may have been the most normal Caravan owners there.
After a short walk down to the shoreline and a battle over Av trying to eat a dirty piece of stale bread off of the ground (I won, but not before she got a good fistful of soil in her mouth, to which she responded "MMMMMMMM!") We saw three older men, probably in their 60's, walking three very tiny dogs. Two of the men had pugs and the third had some sort of brown mop-looking creature. This was funny enough on its own, but lagging behind the men about ten feet were six, yes that is six other dogs, all of them tiny. There were more pugs and mops and even a wiener dog, which is always a treat. The three obvious retirees stood together for a few moments and chatted while all of their little yuppie dogs caught up, and once they had, opened the doors to the two remaining Caravans and let them hop in- one by one, like it was a Disney movie.
At this point even Av had a "What the Hell is going on?" look on her face. I mean, did these guys meet at a club for retired men with tiny dogs? Did they all just decide one day over a game of poker to adopt a bunch of little dogs to cure the boredom of not working? And what is with the Caravans? I get that they have a lot of dogs to tote around, but is that a requirement of being in the group?
That last question was answered when the two Caravans left and the third man piled his pugs in to the back of a Dodge Dakota, but that is still a Dodge. Is this old man mini dog club sponsored by Chrystler? In any event, the last old man turned out to be a real nice guy, although I probably wouldn't have let him coach my kid's soccer team either (just sayin'). He carried one of the pugs, named Diesel, over to say hello to Av. Of course, she responded by burying her face in my chest and ignoring him, but the gesture was still nice.
Going to the park is always an educational experience for Av, but today instead of learning about ducks and socializing with other kids, she learned to always stay away from beat up, old Dodge Caravans. A valuable lesson none the less.
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