Dancing Without Rhythm

When I first started blogging I read a lot of posts from others, cursing the mother of blog9er. Some days 10 different blogs would say the exact same thing. I never said a word, because I never had any problems. I figured I just posted at the right time or something. Apparently, blog9er takes my silence as weakness and has launched a full-scale attack on my precious time and even more precious sanity.

I want to beat it down with the rotten bananas I consistently have on my counter. I want to force it to drink the nasty pond-scum tap fluid this town calls water, I want to make it bring Avee in from outside at the peek of her neighborhood tromping adventures, I want to make it drive a black car with untinted windows in Texas. I want to do some very, very mean things to it....

Thanks to some of your tips, I have beat the system. Sadly not before it beat me into submission and into my bed at 2am with nothing to show for my 3 hours at the computer.

Now, about my post.

It's just a short little story that touches a bit on the evolution of man.

Once upon a time I had this tiny little baby. So sweet. So cute. So immobile. Just one short year ago I would place her tenderly in a little swing and do some much needed things around the house. When I would come back, she was always right there. Maybe a little more scrunched up than I left her, but she was always there.

And other times, I would spice up her life by simply placing her on a blanket. She was free to wiggle, squirm, roll, and drool as she may.

There was a little bit of everything, but not a significant bit of anything. I fear I may have taken those days for granted.

These days:
Breakfast that is given at the table, ends up on the couch, upside down, in the lap of a 15 month old who looks more like she's recovering from a kegger than a full 12 hours of sleep.

After breakfast is a good time to try and get dressed. With the folded laundry that has been set aside to be packed away because it is too small. This entails a lot of grunting, some screeching and an eventual balling up of said laundry and hurling it at the nearest inanimate object.
Later there is serious climbing to be done. Followed immediately by triumphant sitting.

There are a lot of high places that need to be conquered in this house. And if they haven't been conquered yet, it's only because they are too cluttered

and are properly classified as too hazardous. A daredevil has some limitations you know. A daredevil has some limitations you know.

After giving the mom heart failure (which, you should know, unlike Kohl's employees, Wal-Mart greeters, restaurant waiters he meet Avee, is very difficult to do) there is sweet baby-time to tend to Sleepy-Eyed Susie's needs..This entails picking at the closing eyelids for 15 minutes as their ability to go up and down is entirely too fascinating to just enjoy.

Later, an all-time favorite, and not oft enough enjoyed round of toddler-toilet-tubbing.
It's cool!
It's refreshing!
It's just the right size!
It's disgusting.

Later, if mom feels like braving the scorching sun, there are fun outings where there are ducks to be ridden. Like no duck has ever been ridden before. And here, the attention of at least 25 people will be commanded because so few have ever seen a peanut, so small, ride a little rocking duck with such zeal. Things like, "I didn't know the duck went sideways" and "How does she not fall off after that?" can be heard throughout.

Of course, there's the compulsory prance throughout the Spray Park, as there are some darling fat-roll little thighs to flaunt and a pot belly to rival all pot bellies.

"Yeah, I know it, keep looking girls, you can only dream of a diaper bum and knee dimples like this!"


On a perfect day there's always time to catch a little "Clifford the Pup" with the neighbor girls.
No day is complete without a "what the...?" statement from the caregiving adult. One such moment was caught on camera. Avee was taught sign at about 8 months. At that time, she did a handful of signs when she felt like it. While her brother was fluent in sign, Avee has managed to communicate her needs and wants with perfect clarity, in other ways. There is a periodic "milk" flailed about when there's candy to be had, or remotes to be retrieved, balls to be stolen from other children, and sometimes, but rarely, milk wanted. Here, Avee plunked down on the floor in front of her aunt who was eating a cookie. She asked for some, got some and then started saying "muh, muh, muh". Seizing the teaching moment I encouraged, "Say more Avee, say more!" She promptly put her two hands together and signed "more" like she had been doing it every day of her life. It has been SEVEN MONTHS since she has done it. To which I say, what the heck!?

And finally, no day is complete without a full-scale tirade aimed at the loving caregivers who sometimes forget that after the bath, after being dried off completely, after diapers, and pajamas are put on, there is requisite towel time in which it is absolutely necessary to be completely rewrapped in a towel and walk around the room, tripping every 4 steps over the too-long towel.

So many things that a camera cannot capture---one particular favorite just occurred during this blog. It entails swiping a toy from her brother. Any toy, as long as it's vital to his playing scheme at that moment. And then booking it through the house like an olympic sprinter---just for the thrill of the chase.

I'm exhausted just recounting...

Posted by Angela on Monday, July 17, 2006 at 7/17/2006 | Permalink