Dear Peanut,
You are 7 months old today, and I don't know how that happened.
These past few months have flown by so quickly, I almost feel that you were never a newborn, never a little baby.
When you wake up in the morning, you are all smiles. Kicking and waving your arms around - swimming in your crib - smiling, gurgling and laughing. You seem to know that it's morning time now, all your family is awake, and it's time to play! Today, I found you sitting up in your crib, staring at the door. You immediately started the morning swim and morning gurgly laugh when you saw me.
It's better than my morning coffee for starting a good day.
You play so happily with your toys (and with Bjorn's). You have become so good at crawling and chasing after all your brother's cars, laughing all the way. Once we can teach you to race the car, instead of putting it in your mouth, I think your brother is going to love playtime with you. He already loves sharing with you, bringing his cars to you, telling you what each one is, and what sound it makes.
When you are done crawling, you are able to stop and sit up on your own. With no help. Your weeble-wobble days are long gone, and I no longer worry about taking my eye off you. Now I worry when I leave the room, where you are going to go. You're on the move and you're fast. You're also very flexible and love, love love being upside down. I imagine you in ten years, jumping gracefully from the balance beam in a double tuck roll, winning the gymnastics competition.
You weigh in at 16 lbs exactly, which is on the tinier side. I call it petite. But you have been sick the last few days (just a cold!) and not eating well, so maybe we can beef you up soon. This morning you devoured a big ol' bowl of yogurt, so maybe you are starting to feel better. I hope so. It's not fun to see you sick, Peanut. It makes me sad that I can't help.
You babble more ("babababababababa")than I remember your brother doing, and I wonder if that means you are going to talk more than he does. Is that possible?! He talks all the time!! But I can't wait to hear what you have to say; it seems that everything you say makes you laugh, with a big, hearty belly laugh. I imagine you in twenty years, standing on a nightclub stage, doing stand-up. I see you on Saturday Night Live, making the whole world laugh with your impressions.
I really can't believe how old you are, and all that you can do.
Sometimes I'm going to want you to grow up too fast. Hurry up and walk, ride a bike, dress yourself, go to school. You are going to have to remind me now and then that it's nice to be the age you are now, and doing what you can now. That the grass is plenty green right where you are. Don't let anyone- including me - make you grow up too fast.
Take it from me: there is plenty of time to be an adult. Take your time being a kid.
Love,
Mommy
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
The difference
It's so hard when you have two kids not to compare.
I mean, really, I have absolutely no experience with kids outside of my own two (someone really should have told me a thing or two before I had kids!), so the only thing I can do is compare.
So compare I do.
And even though I was so lonely and unskilled and depressed after Bjorn was born, he was still easier than Peanut.
He didn't have reflux. Which means he didn't scream for hours on end until medicine finally - thankfully - was prescribed.
He slept through the night. Every night. Almost from the very, absolute beginning.
He took three hours naps. Two or three of them a day. Even at 7 months old. He would happily sleepin front of Law & Order in my arms for hours.
So it's hard to have a second child that rarely naps more than 45 minutes at a stretch, never in my arms, and whom decided after two months of sleeping through the night that there is too much of a good thing, and she would start needing to feed twice a night.
Sigh.
Then I read Bjorn's baby book, and some old blog posts when he was a babe.
And I'm starting to think Peanut is the easy baby.
Bjorn never, ever went to sleep awake. He would scream and cry and make himself miserable, but he wanted to be rocked to sleep and laid in his bed. God forbid you try to put him down before he was asleep. I almost never rock Peanut to sleep. Since about 4 months old, I have been putting her down wide awake. She sometimes cries a bit, and then realizes, 'Oh dang, I'm tired. Well, since I'm in bed, I might as well go to sleep!' And then she does.
Bjorn would only sleep in my arms. For naptime - all the way up until I went back to work at 7 months old - he would only sleep.in.my.arms. Yes, it would last for 3 hours. But how was I to get anything done? Ever tried showering with a baby in your arms. Uh uh. Not happening. At least Peanut gives me a few minutes to SSS if needed.
Bjorn didn't have reflux. This is true. But I have never been able to get out the spit-up stains he left on every.single.piece.of.clothing.I.own. Outside of The Poltergeist, I have never seen a human being expel that much liquid. The Hubs nicknamed him Queso. And his Ped said it was normal. Not to worry, he would get over it. Which he did. But none of my clothes survived.
And Peanut is such a happy baby. SUCH a happy baby. I think the only time she cried today was when Bjorn took his car away from her (ah, the sibling fighting begins!) and when it was lunchtime, and we were still ten minutes from home.
That's it. Ten minutes of crying the entire day.
The rest of the day was filled with this:
I swear, all the girl does is smile. Smile and scream.
How could I ever have thought she was tough?!
I mean, really, I have absolutely no experience with kids outside of my own two (someone really should have told me a thing or two before I had kids!), so the only thing I can do is compare.
So compare I do.
And even though I was so lonely and unskilled and depressed after Bjorn was born, he was still easier than Peanut.
He didn't have reflux. Which means he didn't scream for hours on end until medicine finally - thankfully - was prescribed.
He slept through the night. Every night. Almost from the very, absolute beginning.
He took three hours naps. Two or three of them a day. Even at 7 months old. He would happily sleep
So it's hard to have a second child that rarely naps more than 45 minutes at a stretch, never in my arms, and whom decided after two months of sleeping through the night that there is too much of a good thing, and she would start needing to feed twice a night.
Sigh.
Then I read Bjorn's baby book, and some old blog posts when he was a babe.
And I'm starting to think Peanut is the easy baby.
Bjorn never, ever went to sleep awake. He would scream and cry and make himself miserable, but he wanted to be rocked to sleep and laid in his bed. God forbid you try to put him down before he was asleep. I almost never rock Peanut to sleep. Since about 4 months old, I have been putting her down wide awake. She sometimes cries a bit, and then realizes, 'Oh dang, I'm tired. Well, since I'm in bed, I might as well go to sleep!' And then she does.
Bjorn would only sleep in my arms. For naptime - all the way up until I went back to work at 7 months old - he would only sleep.in.my.arms. Yes, it would last for 3 hours. But how was I to get anything done? Ever tried showering with a baby in your arms. Uh uh. Not happening. At least Peanut gives me a few minutes to SSS if needed.
Bjorn didn't have reflux. This is true. But I have never been able to get out the spit-up stains he left on every.single.piece.of.clothing.I.own. Outside of The Poltergeist, I have never seen a human being expel that much liquid. The Hubs nicknamed him Queso. And his Ped said it was normal. Not to worry, he would get over it. Which he did. But none of my clothes survived.
And Peanut is such a happy baby. SUCH a happy baby. I think the only time she cried today was when Bjorn took his car away from her (ah, the sibling fighting begins!) and when it was lunchtime, and we were still ten minutes from home.
That's it. Ten minutes of crying the entire day.
The rest of the day was filled with this:
I swear, all the girl does is smile. Smile and scream.
How could I ever have thought she was tough?!
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
6 Month-aversary
Yesterday, when I went to pick up Peanut from the infant care room at the gym, I was told that she was being a "little ornery".
No kidding.
"She got a tooth this past weekend," I said. "So, yeah, she's a little ornery."
The infant room facilitator looked at Peanut, looked at me, and said, "No, no. I think she got TWO teeth this weekend."
She was right.
Not one, but two little baby teeth are poking through on the bottom. Count them. TWO.
My little girl is growing up.
Literally. At her 6 month appointment this morning, she weighed in at 15 pounds, 2.5 ounces (26 %ile) but was a whopping 26 1/2 inches (77%ile). Long and lean, my girl is. Long and lean.
Obviously she didn't get that from me, who tops out the height chart at 5 foot 2 1/2. And that's when I am stretching on tiptoes.
While her weight may seem to be on the lower side, the doctor is not worried (and neither am I). She eats heartily and healthfully at every meal, and still nurses 7-9 times a day. She is rolling and playing and moving all over the place, so she may be burning as fast as she takes it all in. Just like her brother.
Developmentally, she received rave reviews, with the Doc even telling us that she is doing "more than the average 6 month old". She was referring to her baby plank.
I have a yoga baby. Now I just need the cute baby yoga pants. She would look adorable in them.
No kidding.
"She got a tooth this past weekend," I said. "So, yeah, she's a little ornery."
The infant room facilitator looked at Peanut, looked at me, and said, "No, no. I think she got TWO teeth this weekend."
She was right.
Not one, but two little baby teeth are poking through on the bottom. Count them. TWO.
My little girl is growing up.
Literally. At her 6 month appointment this morning, she weighed in at 15 pounds, 2.5 ounces (26 %ile) but was a whopping 26 1/2 inches (77%ile). Long and lean, my girl is. Long and lean.
Obviously she didn't get that from me, who tops out the height chart at 5 foot 2 1/2. And that's when I am stretching on tiptoes.
While her weight may seem to be on the lower side, the doctor is not worried (and neither am I). She eats heartily and healthfully at every meal, and still nurses 7-9 times a day. She is rolling and playing and moving all over the place, so she may be burning as fast as she takes it all in. Just like her brother.
Developmentally, she received rave reviews, with the Doc even telling us that she is doing "more than the average 6 month old". She was referring to her baby plank.
 |
| Planking, on her toes and hands, holding a bridge. My girl is AWESOME. |
I have a yoga baby. Now I just need the cute baby yoga pants. She would look adorable in them.
Monday, January 30, 2012
My Other Car is a Hotel
When I told people I was going camping this past weekend, the most common response was "So who's watching the kids?"
As if camping and kids don't mix.
As if kids don't dig dirt and trees and rocks and hiking and running and playing. And dirt. Did I mention dirt? I think kids really like dirt.
And my kids really love camping.
When we first arrived, Bjorn grabbed his dump truck and shovel and spent two hours shoveling dirt from end of the campsite to the other. Peanut had all her toys laid out in a row on a 9 foot x 20 foot mat and literally rolled from one end to the other, grabbing teething rings and tagged blankets as she went.
They entertained themselves. With no Little Einsteins, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Lightning McQueen. With no bouncy magic chair or tummy time playmat.
They entertained themselves the way God and Mother Nature intended. By eating rocks.
This past weekend, we took our Hotel-Motel-Holiday-Inn pop-up camper so that I could finally see one of the sights of Arizona I swore I would see while I lived here. Tombstone.
It lived up to all my wildest expectations. It was cheese, pure cheese. And I love me some cheese.
Women wore bustles of lace, and high, feathered hats Princess Beatrice would be proud to don. Men had a pistol on each hip and a wicked glint in their eye. After the OK Corral showdown, Wyatt Earp winked and tipped his hat to me.
It was a wonderful day of Wild West glamour, which we followed with a big spaghetti dinner back at our campsite. Both kids ate heartily (Peanut chowing down on some milk and sweet potatoes), then watched Wall-E on The Hub's tablet and settled down to bed.
The next day we went to Kartchner Caverns, these amazing caverns near Tucson that were discovered in the last 30 years or so. They are living caverns - we took the underground tour and the cave literally dripped around us, creating little pieces of stalagtites and stalagmites that may show up thousands of years from now.
Only one of the cavern tours is accessible to children under the age of 7, so that is the one we went on. Beforehand, we were warned by about 3 dozen volunteers that normally children don't do so well underground, and if that occurred, we would be escorted out of the cave. Apparently, these volunteers don't know my children, because they rocked it.
An hour and a half of walking through a dark, humid underground cavern where you absolutely cannot touch anything, and my kids totally rocked it. Peanut, in a front carrier pack, fell asleep after 15 minutes and stayed asleep throughout the entire tour. Bjorn walked part of the way and was held by Daddy part of the way, keeping all hands and feet inside the ride at all times. He didn't touch anything, scream, or make a scene.
It was as if both my kids could feel the magical work of nature around them.
I was going to use either of them as my excuse to leave (I don't do so well in claustrophobic places) but they were doing so well, and the cavern was so magnificent, I took a few breaths and tried to forget that there were 3 tons of rock and dirt above me, and a fault line right over there in those rocks to my left.
The weekend was a blast. By the end of the third day, we all smelled like dirt and camping. Again, the way Mother Nature had intended. We were tired and sore and sunburned and. . . . happy. The whole family was happy, from the big Daddy in charge of all pop-up camper repairs all the way down to the little munchkin who turned 6 months old (and got her first tooth!!) in a state park 50 miles west of Tucson, Arizona.
And who says you can't bring kids camping? Not I.
Definetely Not I.
As if camping and kids don't mix.
As if kids don't dig dirt and trees and rocks and hiking and running and playing. And dirt. Did I mention dirt? I think kids really like dirt.
And my kids really love camping.
When we first arrived, Bjorn grabbed his dump truck and shovel and spent two hours shoveling dirt from end of the campsite to the other. Peanut had all her toys laid out in a row on a 9 foot x 20 foot mat and literally rolled from one end to the other, grabbing teething rings and tagged blankets as she went.
They entertained themselves. With no Little Einsteins, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Lightning McQueen. With no bouncy magic chair or tummy time playmat.
They entertained themselves the way God and Mother Nature intended. By eating rocks.
This past weekend, we took our Hotel-Motel-Holiday-Inn pop-up camper so that I could finally see one of the sights of Arizona I swore I would see while I lived here. Tombstone.
It lived up to all my wildest expectations. It was cheese, pure cheese. And I love me some cheese.
Women wore bustles of lace, and high, feathered hats Princess Beatrice would be proud to don. Men had a pistol on each hip and a wicked glint in their eye. After the OK Corral showdown, Wyatt Earp winked and tipped his hat to me.
It was a wonderful day of Wild West glamour, which we followed with a big spaghetti dinner back at our campsite. Both kids ate heartily (Peanut chowing down on some milk and sweet potatoes), then watched Wall-E on The Hub's tablet and settled down to bed.
The next day we went to Kartchner Caverns, these amazing caverns near Tucson that were discovered in the last 30 years or so. They are living caverns - we took the underground tour and the cave literally dripped around us, creating little pieces of stalagtites and stalagmites that may show up thousands of years from now.
Only one of the cavern tours is accessible to children under the age of 7, so that is the one we went on. Beforehand, we were warned by about 3 dozen volunteers that normally children don't do so well underground, and if that occurred, we would be escorted out of the cave. Apparently, these volunteers don't know my children, because they rocked it.
An hour and a half of walking through a dark, humid underground cavern where you absolutely cannot touch anything, and my kids totally rocked it. Peanut, in a front carrier pack, fell asleep after 15 minutes and stayed asleep throughout the entire tour. Bjorn walked part of the way and was held by Daddy part of the way, keeping all hands and feet inside the ride at all times. He didn't touch anything, scream, or make a scene.
It was as if both my kids could feel the magical work of nature around them.
I was going to use either of them as my excuse to leave (I don't do so well in claustrophobic places) but they were doing so well, and the cavern was so magnificent, I took a few breaths and tried to forget that there were 3 tons of rock and dirt above me, and a fault line right over there in those rocks to my left.
The weekend was a blast. By the end of the third day, we all smelled like dirt and camping. Again, the way Mother Nature had intended. We were tired and sore and sunburned and. . . . happy. The whole family was happy, from the big Daddy in charge of all pop-up camper repairs all the way down to the little munchkin who turned 6 months old (and got her first tooth!!) in a state park 50 miles west of Tucson, Arizona.
And who says you can't bring kids camping? Not I.
Definetely Not I.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Polly Want a Cracker?
Apparently, the phrases I use the most are:
"Sigh. . . OK. Let's do this!"
"Ready? Let's roll!"
"Wait a second. . . . . hmmmmmm. . . . "
"You have two options."
"I have a question for you."
and
"That is my answer."
I know this not because I am on Candid Camera (although I often feel that I am), and not from family home videos I watch to reminiscence (although I often do this for fun).
No, no. . . I know this because I - Lucky Me! - have my very own parrot. He laughs like me, smiles like me, and - God help us - talks like me.
It's unnerving.
"Sigh. . . OK. Let's do this!"
"Ready? Let's roll!"
"Wait a second. . . . . hmmmmmm. . . . "
"You have two options."
"I have a question for you."
and
"That is my answer."
I know this not because I am on Candid Camera (although I often feel that I am), and not from family home videos I watch to reminiscence (although I often do this for fun).
No, no. . . I know this because I - Lucky Me! - have my very own parrot. He laughs like me, smiles like me, and - God help us - talks like me.
It's unnerving.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Dear Preggo Friend
Dear Preggo Friend;
Since you are flying in next week, I thought I would send you a little note to prepare you before your trip.
NOTHING you see in my house is indicative of how your life will be. Don't be scared off, overwhelmed or freaked out by what you may see. Trust me.
Having one - like that one little bun in your toaster oven - is totally different than two. . . . and it's easier 75% of the time. And the only time having two is easier is when you hear the baby start screaming in the living room and the oldest runs to you in the kitchen to tell you that Peanut has spit up/rolled over/been stepped on by him. It's nice to have a second set of eyes - even if that second set of eyes is attached to a second set of shoes that thinks his little sister resembles a soccer ball.
Your child, though, will be perfect and never spit up, scream or roll over without you noticing.
I've heard that there are also children out there who play by themselves. For, like, an hour at a time. My children like me to be present in the room at all times, and every game begins with 'Look, Mom! Now - YOU do it!'. Playing by themselves is a thing of the future. . . and hopefully, the not too distant future.
Your child will be one of those 'play by themselves' children. They will love playing with their friends, and interact quite socially, but will never wrap themselves around your leg until you promise to play cars with them one.more.time.
I've also heard that some children know how to whisper. And walk slowly. Generally be quiet and non-disruptive. Wow! Really?! I have children who like to yell rather than chat, run rather than stroll and generally be loud, disruptive and crazy. On good days, I call them 'spirited'. Bad days? Well, I would rather not say what I call them then.
Your child, Preggo friend, will talk daintily. She won't pick up on the curse words you mutter. She won't yell or scream or throw tantrums.
And don't be overwhelmed by my (supposed) discipline skills and knowledge of baby information. Everything I know is the result of countless hours (days, weeks, months) of trial and error. I have learned the same way you will - by watching other (and, for me, better) mothers. I'm also wingin' it.
Until little pieces of red yarn showed up in Bjorn's diaper, I had no idea I should put a blanket down on the rug because babies like to eat fuzz. Then I promptly forgot about that until Peanut did the same thing. Trial and error.
But, seriously, Preggo Friend of Mine, this house will be nothing like your house. I am sure your house will be clean and quiet, with long periods of free time for you and your Hubby. I am sure your baby will never poop all over that gorgeous dry clean only dress you wear to the office when you meet a client, and never ever will they scream at inoppurtune times when you are just about to finish that deadline.
Sure.
Since you are flying in next week, I thought I would send you a little note to prepare you before your trip.
NOTHING you see in my house is indicative of how your life will be. Don't be scared off, overwhelmed or freaked out by what you may see. Trust me.
Having one - like that one little bun in your toaster oven - is totally different than two. . . . and it's easier 75% of the time. And the only time having two is easier is when you hear the baby start screaming in the living room and the oldest runs to you in the kitchen to tell you that Peanut has spit up/rolled over/been stepped on by him. It's nice to have a second set of eyes - even if that second set of eyes is attached to a second set of shoes that thinks his little sister resembles a soccer ball.
Your child, though, will be perfect and never spit up, scream or roll over without you noticing.
I've heard that there are also children out there who play by themselves. For, like, an hour at a time. My children like me to be present in the room at all times, and every game begins with 'Look, Mom! Now - YOU do it!'. Playing by themselves is a thing of the future. . . and hopefully, the not too distant future.
Your child will be one of those 'play by themselves' children. They will love playing with their friends, and interact quite socially, but will never wrap themselves around your leg until you promise to play cars with them one.more.time.
I've also heard that some children know how to whisper. And walk slowly. Generally be quiet and non-disruptive. Wow! Really?! I have children who like to yell rather than chat, run rather than stroll and generally be loud, disruptive and crazy. On good days, I call them 'spirited'. Bad days? Well, I would rather not say what I call them then.
Your child, Preggo friend, will talk daintily. She won't pick up on the curse words you mutter. She won't yell or scream or throw tantrums.
And don't be overwhelmed by my (supposed) discipline skills and knowledge of baby information. Everything I know is the result of countless hours (days, weeks, months) of trial and error. I have learned the same way you will - by watching other (and, for me, better) mothers. I'm also wingin' it.
Until little pieces of red yarn showed up in Bjorn's diaper, I had no idea I should put a blanket down on the rug because babies like to eat fuzz. Then I promptly forgot about that until Peanut did the same thing. Trial and error.
But, seriously, Preggo Friend of Mine, this house will be nothing like your house. I am sure your house will be clean and quiet, with long periods of free time for you and your Hubby. I am sure your baby will never poop all over that gorgeous dry clean only dress you wear to the office when you meet a client, and never ever will they scream at inoppurtune times when you are just about to finish that deadline.
Sure.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The best of intentions
Every morning I wake up with the best of intentions.
I won't yell at my kids. I won't get frustrated that neither one of them will nap, but desperately, desperatly need to. I will play cars/puzzles/color/play-doh/hockey in between the never-ending rounds of laundry, dishes and snack times. I will teach my children patience through my example.
And every day, my intentions go right down the toilet. (Where, btw, my son still doesn't want to sit. We are really trying to push this soon, though. His diapers are N-A-S-T-Y!)
I grab my coffee, hand the kiddo his milk and ask if he wants to read a book with me. Immediately he begins crying and whining. "Nooooooooo. TV. MY TV. Wittle Einsteins. Kah-ooooo. Wittle EINSTEINS!!!!!"
I hate to admit it, but I usually give in.
I know, I know. . . you are not supposed to give in to toddler bullying.
But, geez, I haven't even had a sip of coffee yet. Just give me some caffeine before the TV whining begins.
Yesterday, though, I decided that enough was enough.
No TV.
No amount of whining, begging or pleading was going to get me to turn on the TV. Even when he boycotted his nap - my sweet, heavenly hour and a half of naptime - no TV. Even when my coffee had not hit my system yet, No TV.
And something strange happened.
After the first hour of intermittent pleading and scream-whining. . . . it stopped. No more whining. And, even more miraculously. . . . .Bjorn played.
He took out every toy that he owns and over the course of six hours proceeded to play with each and every one of them. Over and over and over again. He took the wooden crocodile over a bridge, where it fell into a lake of alligators and had to be rescued with a shovel. He let all 459 cars loose throughout the house, racing around corners and up hills. He drew lines and circles all over his chalkboard table, wiped it up, and did it again.
I think he had fun. I know I did.
At the end of the day, I was throughly exhausted. From Bjorn's constant demand for attention to the constant watching where I put my foot, lest it land on one of the thousands of cars, I was exhausted. But it was a good kind of exhausted.
Don't get me wrong here, I have nothing against TV. (Obviously, to anyone who knows me!) I think the shows Bjorn watches are some of the reasons he has such a large vocabulary, and how he knows so many random facts. From Dino Dan to Little Einsteins, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse to Sesame Street, TV has changed since I was little. It has become educational. Informative. And, yes, while it can be used as a babysitter while I prepare dinner, it also is a good learning tool.
It's also nice to turn it off. Especially when the weather is so nice and a tricycle and hockey sticks are beckoning us outside.
I won't yell at my kids. I won't get frustrated that neither one of them will nap, but desperately, desperatly need to. I will play cars/puzzles/color/play-doh/hockey in between the never-ending rounds of laundry, dishes and snack times. I will teach my children patience through my example.
And every day, my intentions go right down the toilet. (Where, btw, my son still doesn't want to sit. We are really trying to push this soon, though. His diapers are N-A-S-T-Y!)
I grab my coffee, hand the kiddo his milk and ask if he wants to read a book with me. Immediately he begins crying and whining. "Nooooooooo. TV. MY TV. Wittle Einsteins. Kah-ooooo. Wittle EINSTEINS!!!!!"
I hate to admit it, but I usually give in.
I know, I know. . . you are not supposed to give in to toddler bullying.
But, geez, I haven't even had a sip of coffee yet. Just give me some caffeine before the TV whining begins.
Yesterday, though, I decided that enough was enough.
No TV.
No amount of whining, begging or pleading was going to get me to turn on the TV. Even when he boycotted his nap - my sweet, heavenly hour and a half of naptime - no TV. Even when my coffee had not hit my system yet, No TV.
And something strange happened.
After the first hour of intermittent pleading and scream-whining. . . . it stopped. No more whining. And, even more miraculously. . . . .Bjorn played.
He took out every toy that he owns and over the course of six hours proceeded to play with each and every one of them. Over and over and over again. He took the wooden crocodile over a bridge, where it fell into a lake of alligators and had to be rescued with a shovel. He let all 459 cars loose throughout the house, racing around corners and up hills. He drew lines and circles all over his chalkboard table, wiped it up, and did it again.
I think he had fun. I know I did.
At the end of the day, I was throughly exhausted. From Bjorn's constant demand for attention to the constant watching where I put my foot, lest it land on one of the thousands of cars, I was exhausted. But it was a good kind of exhausted.
Don't get me wrong here, I have nothing against TV. (Obviously, to anyone who knows me!) I think the shows Bjorn watches are some of the reasons he has such a large vocabulary, and how he knows so many random facts. From Dino Dan to Little Einsteins, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse to Sesame Street, TV has changed since I was little. It has become educational. Informative. And, yes, while it can be used as a babysitter while I prepare dinner, it also is a good learning tool.
It's also nice to turn it off. Especially when the weather is so nice and a tricycle and hockey sticks are beckoning us outside.
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