Gettin' Back To Nature- And Potentially The ER.

Happy Labor Day!

Communing.

Why are you reading this today? Go! Go outside! Good God, man, it's almost winter! (However, if you're not reading this until Tuesday or later, I'm quite hurt- wounded, really- at your disloyalty.)

There, now. I think I've sufficiently alienated everyone. Onward!

The reason that I'm able to post today is because of my daughter's proclivity towards 4am Beanie Bear tea parties in her crib. Thusly, she faceplanted at an ungodly early 10am for her nap, freeing me up to do all sorts of things like blog, sweep the stairs, and French braid my hair. (But aren't you exhausted, Keely, you ask? Nope! But Peej is! As I've stated before, my Mama Bear-like aptitude for hearing when my child is awake has not yet been fully realized. I don't hear her. P.J., however, has not slept through the night since grade school and is aware of block parties beginning across town. He's ZONKED tired.)

Her early nap will actually serve us well, as Peej scored seven buck tickets to the Cubs game for this afternoon. Nora's never been (and has a superbly cute hand-me-down Cubs onesie!), and the last time I went...was when I was nine months pregnant with Nora. (Sports!) We're only a few miles from Wrigley Field, and since the air is feeling all crisp and autumnal, it's gonna be a much better time than if we had gone during the past few weeks. (I think the combo of humidity, discomfort and athletics would have forced me to have a tantrum, kill a man, and eat all of the jumbo hotdogs in the surrounding area. The last still may occur. There's this one stand that sells ridiculously loaded footlongs that you crave in your sleep. For example.)

Other highlights from this long weekend included brunch with Peej's cousin and her husband, which facilitated a full-on clean of the house (which allowed me to ease up on chores/ease up on demanding that P.J. do chores the rest of the time...which everyone likes). There was a three hour family nap. A slow hike through the forest preserve up at Peterson Park (during which time my child found the only wood chip/dirt pile incline in all of the 46 acres and proclaimed "slide!") and had a picnic. A major Craigslist posting for all of the free/crazy reduced items which we just need to get out of the downstairs/closets/garage, and which- strangely- is yielding positive results and non-crazy people actually taking our things. And, nestily enough, we're blazing through the Important Things checklist for The Monkey and his/her room. Plus, we're mini-seriesing through Mary Poppins before Nora's bedtime each night- and she could NOT love it more. Spoonful of Sugar, jumping into chalk art, waiter penguins, sliding down banisters, girls named Jane, it's all like it was tailor made for our kid. Sure, I'm getting a little weary of singing each song eleven times in a row, but the vigorous applause is pretty sweet.

Bleeding.

It's almost enough to make up for the nightmare-inducing guilt I feel over watching my daughter trip into the coffee table and bite clear through her lip. Especially since she was running towards me. With a stack of books in her arms. And a cheerful grin. Happily announcing that she and Mommy were gonna read. And I was a split second too late to catch her. And the blood- oh God, the blood.

She cried for seven seconds. I cried for half an hour. She assured me that she was "fine," especially once the bleeding let up and she enjoyed a lemon Italian ice for the better part of an hour. (I think she'd willingly do it again for another Italian ice.) And later we rocked on the hammock and she fed herself fistfuls of mint and raspberries from the garden. So I know she's okay.

She has been accused of being too pretty- a fat lip will give her some street cred. And it's good for her to have some stuff to tell her future therapist.

You're welcome, Nora.

Vodka tonic, stirred with a binky.

Today is rainy and, as my youngest sister used to be fond of saying, dank.

It's hard to get moving on days like today. I've found it's made harder when one is woken up- not by one's newborn- but by one's humongo tabby at 5am. To be fair, the cat had important business to deal with at 5am. Atop the armoire. Whining over our heads. And then shrieking as he rode the pivoting standing mirror to the floor. And by "rode" I mean "fell onto."

He may or may not have taken frames and a vase with him.

(Nora, in bed between us, slept through this! She was, however, woken up when an email on my Bberry vibrated my bedside table.)

6am: The kitchen trashcan (and thusly the kitchen) smelled like coffee and onions, not exactly one of those invigorating 'get up and go' scents.

Although, to be fair, that's probably what I smell like, too.

Thankfully, PJ took the garbage out.

I wish someone would take me out. (See what I did there?)

I vaguely remember telling PJ at 4am that I was happy the glass of water next to the bed was lime seltzer. 'Cause that's really fancy.

This joint [lifestyle] is really jumpin'  [tucked in at 8pm].

Nora, bedecked in a squirrel (sqwo) tee and yoga pants, is looking at me like "TGIT.' The mini nanny (nani?) workaday life is really taking it's toll on her. If it's possible for an almost-5 month old to adapt the facial expression of a sullen 14 year old whenever she's in the car...well, then I spend over an hour a day in the Passat with my teenage self. (Pleasant and thankful.)

I feel like Nora starts out the day with a jar of goodwill towards us all- and, without fail, I spend my day squandering it. Transit! Interrupted naps! Incorrect bath friend choices! (Always the starfish. Do not pull that orca junk.)

And it's a big jar with which to begin.  Epcot big.  (I originally felt the need to elaborate with "Spaceship Earth," but I have a feeling you were on it with 'Epcot.')

Back to Thursday.

Nora just sneezed and Lil asked if that was Nora or her. Presumably she'd  know if she had sneezed, but the plastic big band set she's rockin' IS awfully distracting.

Awfully.

And when I sang You Are My Sunshine upon request, Lily asked who it was for.

You, I told her.

"You're not thinking about Nora?"

Nope.

"Please don't look at her for my song."

Sometimes I think being almost 3 would be marvy.

9am: Seven year old J asked for colder water. I suggested ice. She rebutted that adding cubes takes too long to cool water. I begged to differ and proceeded to take her water bottle, added ice, shook it up all fancy-like (lots of extraneous elbow action) and gave her the COLDEST WATER SHE'D EVER HAD. (Her words.)


I felt awesome, until I realized that I had inadvertently shown a first-grader how to chill a martini.


And in Aneurysm Watch 2010 News: I've broken two more things from other people's fridges this week. One was a container of Greek yogurt (the only honey one, of course- there were loads of blueberry yogurts just waiting to be annihilated, but NO) and a hand-crafted root beer.


Two more signs that these situations did not occur anywhere near my fridge: those are awesome things to have in one's fridge.


And since I have a habit of not wasting food (except perhaps a fudgesicle in the freezer that I do believe we moved with as well as a tupperware of cabbage that may well have fermented) I had to finish these two items off.


The families for which I nanny would have no problem with me tossing these items- in fact, they'd probably be concerned otherwise- but it's not in my nature. Sadly.


The yogurt was fabulous. Sure, there were a couple of plastic shards that I narrowly avoided (nice try, shards) but the honey on the bottom [top] was truly delicious. Sadly.


The root beer was an exercise in stealth, for if anyone under the age of ten had seen me downing it, they. Would. Have. Wanted. Some. And I try not to push root beer for brekkie. As soon as it hit the floor and started fizzing, I rushed it to the sink and saved as much as I could- as covertly as I could- as quickly as I could. Sadly.


I think I got the one with extra carbonation. (And bourbon vanilla extract!)


There's only so much you can expect on days like today. So, you put on your Hampshire College hoodie (motto: Try To Come To Class, Okay?), make a blanket tunnel for wombats and curl up until the sun comes back out.


Maybe even let the children join you.