Community service

This Saturday, Oliver came with me to a local middle and high school for Hands on Nashville Day.  This is a city-wide day of service, wherein groups of community members -- often coworkers, churches, or school groups like ours -- go out to the schools to do painting and landscaping.  I did it last year with my students in the LDUS master's program I teach with as part of my graduate work.  I was pregnant with Emme at the time and actually had to get a babysitter for Ollie since Wes was working. An hour or so into the morning, though, lots of neighborhood families (we were at an elementary school last year) showed up with young kids who helped spread mulch, too.  So I decided to take him along this year in the hopes that there would once again be a big pile of dirt.

And indeed there was.  Ollie and I got there at 7:45am.  After a brief tour of litter duty, we took his bucket and shovel to the big pile of dirt and then carried buckets of mulch to various trees and shrubs that were being pruned and weeded.  I think we walked back and forth with buckets of mulch for about two hours, with brief breaks for water, snacks, and some picture taking (by Oliver).

I know Oliver to young understand what community service is, but he did get the idea that we were helping.  He amused any number of other volunteers there with his John Deere hat and bucket and shovel.  He liked to stand on the very top of the pile of mulch and shovel and reshovel before putting it in the bucket.

He was very tired, wet (shoes, socks, and cuffs from the dew on the grass), and a little crabby by the time we left, but it was fun to take him with me.  Hopefully it's instilling some kind of habit that he will continue through adulthood.

(More than) eight months old

Vintage Gymboree onesie, circa Winter 2004

Tooth

Emme is finally getting her first tooth, it seems. I can just see the very top of her bottom left tooth poking through her gum. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be the cause of her recent 11pm scream feats. I tried prophylactic Tylenol last night to no avail. Hopefully the tooth (or teeth!) will soon be here and the screaming gone.

Standing

Emme is pulling herself up to standing now.  She'll crawl to me, take my fingers and stand up.  Of course, then she'll let go because she wants to stand up all by herself.  But she can't, so she just plunks back down.  She's also learned how to pull herself up on the furniture, like the couch or the ottomans in the living room.  She's not really cruising yet, but she does love to stand.  Oliver thinks it's an amazing development (I'm sure Cookie will reach this milestone soon, too), and he wants to hold on to her while she stands up.  Not such a good idea, but I appreciate the desire.

So Emme continues to develop quickly, a little ahead of what Oliver did.  Her pincer grip is still lacking.  She tends to hold food in her fist instead of her fingers, which makes it hard to get it in her mouth.  This, I am sure, Oliver mastered very quickly.  She also still has no teeth and no sign of any coming in soon.  I have to assume it will eventually happen, but it's still strange to see such a gummy grin on a standing baby!

Strolling

Dirt and dirtier

Oliver got a belated birthday present yesterday.  (Actually, he got it today, when we went to Target to get the Leapfrog Tag system and a few books for it, but I think yesterday was probably more exciting in the short run.)  We had a walkway put in our backyard from the patio to the steps that lead into the garage.  The yard is wonderful, and I would have preferred on an aesthetic level to not do anything at all, but the ice, snow, and rain in the past two years have been hard on the grass, our shoes, and the kitchen floors.  So Wes and I plunked down the money to put in the walkway and have the patio extended over a garden area that, well, had never been well tended.  The walkway starts level with the back patio but raises slightly so it's above the grass line.  Wes thought it would be better if the grass sloped up to meet the top of the walkway, and so yesterday was dedicated to adding dirt, seed, and straw to the sides in the hopes of getting said grass to grow.

So in the morning, after a hearty breakfast at Dunkin Donuts (umm, yeah), we headed out to a nursery about 20 minutes away where they have, yup, a bunch of piles of dirt.  They have regular dirt, mulch, bark, and something called "Holy Cow Garden Mix."  I think Oliver thought it was his wildest dream come true.  Not only did we pass probably 50 tractors getting there, but he was permitted to touch and help shovel the dirt.  The guy at the register, who Wes described using a rather pejorative southern slang term, thought we were nuts to have showed up at this place without a pickup truck.  They actually sell the dirt by the pickup truck.  Wes paid for a half load (as low as the register would go, according to said guy, and off we went.  Wes commented later, probably accurately, that my paternal grandfather, a lifetime farmer, would probably lose his mind if he heard that we not only paid for dirt but also shoveled it ourselves.  We got the dirt home, and after forcing Ollie to come inside and eat lunch, he and Wes spent the afternoon moving the dirt from the back of the car into the yard.  They eventually went back for a second half load, which Wes said was so heavy it actually made it difficult for the car to steer correctly (something about the front half of the car not quite sitting on the road...).

After more shoveling, and some seeding, and the arrival of Grandma Kay, Wes, Ollie, and Grandma went to Home Depot for straw.  The thing is, they were out of straw.  But the guy in charge of straw (who I can only assume bore some striking similarity to the guy at the dirt place) said they could have whatever they could sweep out of the semi that brought the straw in.  So the three of them spent at least 20 minutes, to Oliver's great delight, sweeping out the inside of a huge truck.  They brought it home in four huge paper bags, and Oliver literally climbed inside to get the last of it out.

Suffice it to say that my guys finished the day dirty, sweaty, and completely worn out.  But at least for Ollie, it was a great, great day.  And me -- I got my car cleaned out!

Oliver, photographer extraordinaire

Having a daddy moment

Wes and Oliver have spent the last thirty minutes sitting in front of the computer watching old cartoons.  Wes says he remembers them from when he was a kid.

The big 0-3!

Cupcakes with Grandma Kay --
and Aunt Laura via Skye on the iPhone!

Mmm...icing.

Wearing his "3" shirt.

Getting his annual measurement.

Grew 3 3/4" since last year!

The birthday boy

From this...

to this.

The year of why

Oliver's third year of life, as a two-year-old, was the year of what.  "What is that?"  "What are you doing, mommy?" (over and over again).  Or in response to a question that he didn't know the answer to, simply "What?"

Yesterday, for the very first time, when I told Oliver to do something (you know, something really crazy like wash his hands after peeing), he responded, "Why?" as he did to several other directives over the course of the day.  It seems that his next year of life, as a three-year-old, will be the year of why.  And yes, I've already said, at least once, "Because I said so."  Which of course wasn't the real reason why, but sometimes explaining the real reason why just takes too long.  Or is too complicated to explain.  Wes attempted to give a real answer to a "Why? yesterday, perhaps the hand washing "Why?", and inevitably it turned into an explanation of bacteria and gastrointestinal parasites and I don't even know what.  It's fair to assume that if I didn't understand the answer, Oliver didn't either.  But he did eventually wash his hands, so I might have to brush up on my "how the world works" talks in order to survive Oliver at three.

Goosed

Bugged out

Everyone finally seems to be bug free at our house.  Wes got the bug late Monday night, and he and I spent most of Tuesday home on the couch while the kids were at daycare.  When I went to pick them up early that afternoon, I learned that Emme had been tired and fussy all day, just not herself, and had recently spit up and was running a low fever.  By the time we got her home she was burning up, and after some Tylenol, she slept 4:30-8, and then 9pm-6am.  She stayed home from daycare Wednesday and Thursday, with the help of a babysitter on Wednesday and Grandma Kay on Thursday afternoon, so that I could go to class and teach class, respectively.  She had a persistent fever on Wednesday, helped only with Tylenol, and refused any baby food.  On Thursday, the fever was gone, but she was still clearly uncomfortable and only started to take a little baby food in the afternoon.  She was pretty sad the whole time.  If I put her down, she either cried to be picked up or just sat on the floor looking around, zapped of any energy to crawl.  She snuggled happily and pretty much wanted to be with me all day -- clearly a sign she wasn't feeling well!  I wasn't sure if I would send her Friday, but after it took me five minutes to get her diapered and dressed in the morning (owing to the fact that she wouldn't lie still) and she did a lot of smiling and cooing, I decided to send her on so that I could finally get some schoolwork done.  She made it through the day fine, though she was clearly worn out afterwards.  She has had several nasty poops since then -- not clear if they are simply a return to breast milk poop since she refused baby food for so long or a sign that the bug is still there a little bit.  She also has a pretty nasty rash all over, though the worst on her diaper area, but Wes says it's just an after effect of the fever.  I'm hoping it clears up in the next day as it looks kind of uncomfortable.

We have done lots of laundry this week.  I've also made sure that all the hand soap in the bathrooms is antibacterial.  I still need to Clorox doorknobs and wipe down some toys, but otherwise, we've hopefully staved off a return of this thing.  With the temperatures being up and down like they have in the last week, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before someone is sick with a respiratory infection or some such thing, but I'm hoping we can all get a little rest and relaxation before that happens.

Bugged

It seems we have a bug in our house.  A small one, I think, but definitely moving around.  Two of the babies in Emme's room at daycare on Friday had multiple runny diapers.  Then on Saturday, Oliver had several very large, very runny stools, followed by a long nap (almost always a sign that he is not feeling well).  He seemed somewhat better yesterday (though he napped again), and his appetite and energy never diminished significantly like it has in the past with more serious illnesses.  Emme has thus far been spared this bug, for which I am especially thankful.  Unfortunately, though, I have not been spared the bug myself.  I woke up this morning with a queasy stomach and all that goes with that, and have just in the past half hour been visited but the ghost of breakfast past.  Wes is at home with the kids today because I have class all afternoon.  I am reluctant to miss at all as I am scheduled to be out in late October for a trip.  The down side is I'm spending a cool, rainy Labor Day away from my family, sitting in a very chilly office on campus trying to do some reading while feeling horribly.  The up side is I'm not trying to take care of my two very mobile children while feeling horribly.  I guess I'll take it.

The rodent

Everywhere I go shopping for clothes for Emme, I see little pink onesies, often with rhinestones, that proclaim, "Daddy's little princess."  So it kind of surprised me when Wes landed on his most recent nickname for Emme -- the rodent.  Oliver has also now picked it up.  I'm not sure he realizes that it's being used to refer to Emme or if he even knows what a rodent is.  But he thinks it's funny nonetheless.  I do not.  My usual nickname for her is "Sweety Pea."

I mean, I do kind of see where he's coming from.  Emme's scampering little crawl and the fact that she gets around like crazy are a little rodent-esque.  She is constantly underfoot these days, especially since she's started trying to pull herself up on my legs when she wants me (adorable, unless you're trying to put groceries away -- or, as was the case this morning, use the bathroom).  She's starting to get into things.  Today we had to take my power cord away from her lest she pull the whole laptop on her head.  I guess we might be Oliver-proofed but are not really baby proofed in some spots.

Wes insists that this nickname is meant as a compliment.  Rodents are survivors, he claims, especially the ones that periodically visit our home and manage to avoid the traps we put down for them (the poison, it seems, is another story).  I just don't know, though, that Emme is going to look back as a young woman (by which time Wes will hopefully have thought of another nickname -- Emme-Em is the usual referent) and think to herself -- My dad sure must have loved me when I was a baby, comparing me to vermin and all.

Would make for an interesting onesie, though.  Even with rhinestones.  

Immobilized

Tonight before bedtime, I took Emme's mobile off her crib.  Even after moving the mattress down to the next level, she can still reach the animals on it.  She gets on her knees, then reaches up with one hand for the top of the side of the crib and uses her free hand to grab the animals and drag then down in her dominion.  I'm basically worried she's going to break the thing.  So off it came. 

The changing station (which affixes to the top of the crib) is probably next.  Not only is she likely to bang her head against it at some point, but she -- more importantly, won't stay on the thing.  She is so active that she won't lie on her back unless I dangle something above her while I change her diaper.  It's like trying to rope a calf or something.  When I lay her down to take off her diaper or get her dressed after a bath, it takes her about ten seconds to flip over and take off for the closest toy.  Usually there are multiple starts and stops -- to get the diaper off or put the diaper cream on, to get the new diaper on, another round for putting a onesie over head.  And then I usually snap it from behind while she crawls away.  

All this developing new skills and storing away of newborn baby things would normally have me wondering about the next kid.  But Oliver was enough of a nuisance today to remind me that sweet, adorable little babies eventually become ornery toddlers who -- when not charming me -- make me want to pull my hair out.  So I'll enjoy the sitting/crawling/general adorableness of Emme's current phase without thinking about who might enjoy the mobile next.