Telephone game

I came home last night to find Ittybit brimming with excitement, holding out a familiar piece of paper with new and unfamiliar autographs.

She'd been reticent to go to her after school program (though usually once she's there she's reluctant to leave) and unable to pinpoint why.

"It's no fun. There are bullies. No one plays with me. I can't get to the craft table soon enough. I just sit there. And. Wait."

We don't want to minimize her concerns, but there's just no way around it ... and, like her favorite book of late, she'll just have to go through it.

In an effort to get her past the moment of dread, I offered a suggestion: "You know, we need kids to help us with the parade dragon for the People's Parade. ... Maybe, if you take the drawing with you, you can explain what it is we're doing and recruit volunteers."

She liked that. (We don't call her The Art Director for nothing.) And I can really picture her flitting from student to student trying to gain their interest. We've been there before, too.

Of course, I hadn't expected to turn over the drawing she'd circulated and find names neatly listed next to phone numbers.

Numbers like 555-1234.

"When should we call them?" she wondered. "A month before? A week?"

Next Tuesday in Never sprang to mind, but I knew I'd need to put it more delicately.

"Honey, these are phony phone numbers. We can't call these. My guess is you asked some kids who didn't want to say "No" but didn't want to get a phone call either."

"Are you sure?" she asked with a wry little smile. "Would someone really give a little kid like me a phony phone number?" she said squinting at the numbers.

"There's too many patterns, most real numbers don't go in such clear order," I explained and showed her a listing from the phone book.

She just shrugged her shoulders and walked off. Their loss. They won't get any of the dragon cookies she's planning to bake for the crew.

My shoulders weren't as relaxed as I wondered aloud if I should have mentioned the deception. I could have just as easily asked her about all the kids we know well, who'd actually LIKE to be in the parade.

"I think it's best to tell her the truth. She'll find out anyway. Better she find out from you."

Riddle me this

leave me alone, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

What do you have when BOTH kids are oozing phlegm out of all facial orifices, crusty with overnight snot, eye goop that cannot be removed with a chisel and a big old gash on the cheek?

Why, a well-baby appointment at the pediatrician's office silly!

Did I mention that I just did laundry but can't find clothes that match?

No?

Silly me.

Perfect timing, because it's ALSO Annabel's Special Day at school.

Anyhoo. I took Annabel with me to Silas' nine-month check up because I hate myself can't manage to get out of the house on time. Thankfully, she was helpful and sweet. She even helped fill the doctor in on her little brother's developmental milestones.

"Yes, he's picking things up with his pinchy fingers ...
"Yes, he's crawling all over the house and the dog ...
"No, he's not sleeping through the night. He's a big, fat not-sleepy bug boy."

In fact, I kinda felt like the preschooler among us when the routine appointment took three times as long as normal ... which, sadly, is becoming the norm these days at the doctors' office.

Ittybit (whinning): WHEN CAN WE GO HOME? I'M HUNGRY.
Mommy (whinning): I DON'T KNOW, I HOPE SOON.

When we got there at four minutes to nine, the kidlet was asleep in his car pod and had to be woken up and undressed. And you know that last thing isn't really big on his TO DO list. Dealing with the sweaters and shirts while the boy flailed around, making the weigh-in more like an obstacle course wasn't easy.

By the time a medical student came in a half hour later to do a "pre-exam" I was ready to leave the kids with her.

Annabel wasn't terribly helpful in THAT department. She wanted to sit on the examining table, play with the rolling stool and talk the med student's ear off.

"What is that?"
"A stethoscope."
"Can I listen?"
"Ok ... when I'm finished."
"I can't hear."
"Well. .. these have to go in your ears."
"OK. ... Oh. I hear it now."

After it was over and the student left the examination room, we waited another fifteen minutes for the doctor.

"Will you read me a princess book? Or the I SPY one? Can I climb on this ... look there at the eye chart. Can you pick me up? I want to show you my favorite letter. It's R. R is my favorite letter because it can growl.. ... RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Honey. ... Remember, I need to speak with the doctor and understand what she says so PLEASE don't interrupt.

"OK."

I have no idea what the doctor said once Annabel took the rolli-stool out of the garage and crashed into the wall. I think it was something about using MORE diaper rash cream. ... Or maybe she said he looks like he's eating ice cream. ... I sure hope she didn't say he looks like he's been eating diaper rash cream.

Silas didn't want to be poked and prodded, and he definitely did NOT want the Hepatitis shot they gave him at the end. But he was a trooper.

As we were waiting (yet again) for the nurse to come in with the shot, my dad showed up (stalker papa) on his way home from his cardiac rehab (there is a god). He ended up taking chatty kathy out to the waiting room play kitchen to spread her germs to others and leave us grumpy folks in peace.

Afterward, I took the boy to the babysitter's house and Papa took the girl home to his to feed her lunch, and stand in as her Special Day person so I could go back to work.

But when I got to the sitter's and realized how late it was, I figured what was another hour or two? I got myself a Uber Expensive bag lunch at the chi-chi place I pass every day without hope of stopping, and I ate in the parking lot of the school.

Just an hour with my Special Day Girl. Just an hour to start and make up for too much lost time.

*** FOR THE RECORD: The Champ -- at nine months -- weighs 16 pounds, five ounces (less than 5th percentile); measures 27.5 inches long (25th percentile) and has a cabesa circumference of 45 cm (50th percentile). I know this because the nurse wrote it down.

Last minute mayhem

last minute, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

So .... I bought these espresso cups and saucers about a zillion years ago, presumably because I thought they were cute. They've been packed away in a box since purchase and that box has followed me to three homes.

Shocking, isn't it?

Well yesterday was Ittybit's last day of school at the Marilla Cuthbert Acadamy for Unspeakably Charming Children until the new year, and I never got her teachers a gift. ... So being upset and worried about everything under the sun (or moon, depending on your location in hemisphere) I decided to put my nervous energy to good use last night and I stayed up way too late making yet another batch of Chocolate Covered Compost.

Of course I didn't know how I would package the treats as I sleepily put myself and the cling-on to bed round about 2 in the A.M., so I tossed and turned for the rest of my repose remembering the things in my possession that I'd like to reliquish into someone else's possession.

Sometime in all of that fretting I remembered these little gems were packed away in some dank corner of the mess I call a home office. With an early morning expedition into the cold, dark space with a flashlight, some baggies, some ribbon and a little tissue paper ... and voila! No one has to be the wiser. ...

However, since her father forgot ittybit's bag at school yesterday when he was her "special day" someone and I showed up bearing gifts this morning when I dropped by to reclaim the tote, which, incidentally, is filled with extra shoes (some of which are her brother's) and plastic toys (ditto, as to ownership), I'm fairly certain they know any gift from us is really just a stroke of dumb luck.