Jump in the Muddles

Child/adult ratio at our house this week: 2/1

Number of night wakings by Calvin: 4

Inches of rainwater accumulated in the basement: 2

Hours of sleep had by Scott before leaving this morning: 3.5, at the outside

Bites of cereal consumed by Audrey over a twenty minute period, under near-constant nagging and bribery: 5

But it's going to be O.K. because...

Minutes late to nursery school this morning, despite downpour: zero!

Victory screeches given by Calvin: lost count by 8:00AM

Number of small people who told me this morning that it's a great day for "jumping in the muddles": 1

Audrey's Mahna Mahna

After this riff on Mahna Mahna, she sang one of her original compositions for us, a song called "Elephants are from Cuba."

Yes. Cuba.

And no, we have no idea where she came up with that. Or when she's even head of Cuba. No idea. At all.

Spring is here: there are baby birds in the stove vent again.

The sparrows-- or maybe it's house finches?-- are back and nesting comfortably with their new babies in our stove vent. Soon their heads will be covered in a greasy film of cooking oil, like a nest full of downy little hash browns. Because of their proximity to our microwave, we hope there is only one downy head on each of those chicks... When you stand in our kitchen it sounds as if the birds are right in the microwave oven-- a mostly pleasing but occasionally freaky aspect of our kitchen.

Audrey said, "Listen, Mommy! They saying peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep..."

Hooray for warmer weather. Peep!

Postcard to Daddy: We're ready for rolling

Overheard, this morning on the way out the door to nursery school, which was the usual tumbling over each other mad rush for shoes and keys and coats and wait! where's the baby? oh, there he is, under the shopping bags and I hope I didn't just lock us out of the house again...

Audrey: Calvin, are you ready to roll? Okay, Mom-- we're ready for rolling.

How are we rolling on our own? We're rolling along okay, thanks. Today it never quite felt like the wheels were coming off the bus, although this vehicle does shake pretty badly when we take a corner. I've discovered that successful single-parent days are mostly about setting the bar really low, and then aiming even lower than that. By which I really mean just being kind to myself, and trying very hard only to get upset with Audrey if there is a safety issue, and remembering that Cal acts like a baby because he is one, and all he wants is to have his face three inches away from mine all day long, just like that picture up there.

We miss you, Scott. Oh, so, much. Sleep tight.

Chuckles

Who won the dinner table summit?

Ellen wants to know who won the dinner table summit-- Audrey, or her parents? It was a draw.

Like the U.S./Canada gold-medal hockey game, our dinner table show-down went into overtime. Audrey dragged out the battle until almost bedtime when she asked for her plate to be taken out of the fridge one more time so she could eat her casserole. She finally finally FINALLY ate four bites, but not before being reminded that a bite must 1) be placed in her mouth with a utensil, not her hands, 2) remain in her mouth and 3) be swallowed, not just "chipmunked" in the pocket of her cheek.

Audrey got her pineapple in the end. And today, when she saw me eating some of the same casserole for lunch she said, "Mommy, eat all that yucky and you have dessert!"

Is this a win? I don't feel quite like a winner somehow.

This is not a restaurant. I am not a short-order cook. And other things my mom said to me a lot.

We're sticking to our guns on the same dinner table rules I had as a kid, which I think are totally reasonable and fair: you are not forced to eat anything, but neither will you be served alternate choices. Audrey understands this but is still a tireless negotiator, and uses every procedural method she can think of to stall things and wear us out. Last night, she did not want the casserole, but she did very much want pineapple for dessert. Here was one of her last ditch efforts to avoid eating the required four bites of casserole that would qualify her for dessert:

Scott: Audrey, eat your casserole. This is your last chance. I'm not going to tell you again.

Audrey: I can't right now. My teeth are too tight. I need a band-aid.