The Letter V

I'd like to think I'd have a lot more time on my hands if I weren't so neurotic sometimes.

Let me share what goes on inside my head for a moment...  Weston has an alphabet train that has 26 2-inch individual blocks that snap in and out of the train.  Every few weeks since he's gotten it for Christmas last year, I've taken to counting all the blocks just to make sure that they're all there.  On occasion, I've counted the blocks and come up with 25, but I've always been able to find #26, hidden in some compartment that Weston forgot about.  I do this same thing with his puzzles--always putting the pieces back together.  He has four sets of flashcards that I have yet to let co-mingle.  I always sort them out (they're grouped by theme) and put them back in their proper boxes.

Dumb, I know.  I think I do it because I'd like to be able to pass along all the amazing intact toys that we were so graciously given by friends and family to some parents-to-be down the road.  I hope that they will be intact.  No kid likes puzzles with pieces missing.

Turns out that a couple of weeks ago was the first time I counted 25 and haven't been able to find the letter V.  I'm obsessed!  I've looked in drawers, closets, all the usual places, and I've come up empty.  I was irritated.  Outsmarted by a toddler.

I often wonder where stuff like that goes--unmatched socks, a lone glove, one earring, a toddler's shoe, the AWOL cell phone charger, etc.  And yet, I've seen those things of other people on bike paths, in school lost-and-founds, public restroom counter tops, in my neighborhood, and I somehow can't fathom how in the world it got there.  Just a couple of months ago, Nate and I returned home from a meandering walk in our neighborhood on one of those nasty hot days (which I would enjoy right now as I sit here in a sweater and pajama pants), and realized that Weston was sporting only one sandal.

Crap.  We both looked at each other, hoping the other one would utter what we each wanted to say, which was, "Forget it.  Summer's almost over and he's got plenty of other shoes that will fit."

Instead, I said, "Do you want to go look for it, or should I?"  He cocked his head, silently asking Did you really just give me an out? and said, "I'll stay back with Weston."  So, out I went, retracing our steps in blazing heat.  Enjoying the second round of the walk, I kept my eyes toward the ground.  About halfway through, there it was.  The toddler's sandal.  Rescued from hours, days, or even weeks of strangers walking by and wondering, "What the hell is that shoe doing here?"

Right now, that letter V block could have been subjected to such humiliation (Who knows?  Did Weston smuggle it on a trip to Kroger, only to have it fall out of his hand on the way into the store?).  Or perhaps it's tucked away in some little corner of the house, patiently awaiting to be discovered when the kids are out of the house, and we're packing up to retire to something smaller.  At which point, I'll probably shed a tear or two, fondly remembering how cute it was when I would find Weston's toys in the funniest places.

Where did you hide the letter V??!??

A "Vacation"

Weston and I got back to Cinci last week after leaving about four weeks ago to drive to Wisconsin, spend time with family, and then hopping on a plane to Salt Lake City to visit my sister.  I had anxiety about traveling with a child (How's he going to nap?  Is he going to freak out on the plane, and I'll be that Mom that everyone wants to kill?  What if he refuses to take a nap at my mom's house?).  Some of it came true, some of it didn't, and the seemingly bad oftentimes had some good to it.

Con: He kept waking up at 5am at Central Time while we were in Wisconsin, no matter how early or how late we put him to bed.  Pro: I took advantage of his morning nap, and got to nap with him (like actually sleeping together in the same bed).  I haven't done that for a long time, and it was wonderful to cuddle with him.

Con: Airplanes suck.  The waiting, the cramped seats, Weston's inability to understand that he has to stay on my lap, etc. Pro: Other mothers are empathetic.  On our way back to Cincinnati from Salt Lake, we had an aisle seat in the back of the plane next to two other people.  Across the aisle was a woman, an empty seat, and a guy with the window seat.  As the number of people boarding was thinning out, the woman across the aisle turned to me and said, "Hey, it looks like no one else is going to take this seat.  Do you want to switch so that you have an empty seat?"  I looked at her like she was totally crazy for offering up her seat to me, and said, "Really??!??"  We switched under the agreement that I would "pay it forward" someday.  Absolutely!

Con: Camping with a little person is tough, especially if he's not used to it.  Weston didn't want to go to sleep the night we went--oh, the sounds of nature!-- and I finally got him to sleep at 10 pm.  He woke up at 5 am--oh, the sounds of nature!  Pro: The last time I went camping was on our 2010 Great Divide Route bike trip.  Living in a city, it's not likely that I get to stroll around at twilight, under the stars and a half moon, as hummingbirds buzz overhead.   It was totally peaceful, even as I was holding a sleepy baby, who now and again would catch a glimpse of the moon, point to it, and say, "Muh, muh."

In the tent

My Queasy Stomach

No, I'm not expecting another baby...

I just want to know when that horrible feeling I get of weak knees and a queasy stomach will go away.  You know, the one I get whenever Weston is crawling too fast on concrete and I visualize him face planting, or when he's about to topple over off the deck into a pine bush because he came too close to the edge?

Yeah.  That feeling.  Am I cursed with this because I'm a mother now?  Is it worse because he's a boy?  It happens most frequently when concrete is below him.  Will it get better when he's mastered walking?

Yuck.