Working full-time

As I knew would be the case, it's not that bad. 

At least not yet.  I'm sure all the little nit-picky stuff that gets put off because time is tighter will accumulate in the back corner of my mind over the coming weeks.  And they'll eventually build up to a crescendo of holy-shit-the-half-done-undone-needing-to-be-done-crap-is-sending-me-to-Crazytown, unfairly bestowing upon my husband a franticly irrational, albeit passionately defended, meltdown to assuage.

But for now, we're all good.

So good that I didn't mind leaving the kitchen half-a-mess Sunday night after hosting a really nice family dinner. Ok, I minded, but Brian convinced me to let it go and sit on the couch for a bit with one more glass of wine. That's progress.

So good that we have somehow become adept at a weekday morning routine that readies me and the baby, often 10 or 15 minutes earlier than expected.  Occasionally there are early morning tears because little boy would rather be held than play with toys on the floor watching Mama, or tantrums because breakfast isn't coming fast enough, but generally, our mornings offer some great smiles and a good mix of one-on-one time balanced with the requisite hair-doing and makeup-applying.

So good that I relished in the surprise excitement I felt yesterday afternoon -- little-kid excited, all heart-a-flutter and quick-breathing -- when I realized that in just a few hours I'd be home, catching up with my little boy on all the new lessons and excitement his Monday brought him.  That's an unexpected treat, I tell ya.  No, I don't have as many long weekends to look forward to lounging and erranding with my boy as I used to, but that electric excitement, the joy of anticipation, is pretty darn exhiliarating.  I'll take it.

So good, in fact, that I'm looking ahead with hope rather than anxiety or fear to other changes that are-a-coming, changes which may challenge or complicate the life balance and perspective I try to maintain.  Hopeful, because I'm confident I can excel in different aspects of my life simultaneously.  I can grow on different levels and in different ways than other people choose to grow.  And no one way is right or wrong, better or worse.  The simple truth -- and one it's taken me a year or two to really, fully appreciate -- is that a person is responsible for defining her own roles in her life: mother, wife, employee, boss, volunteer, friend, house-keeper, preserver of life's love and inspiration.  No need to compare my recipe for a full life, which portions all those roles and priorities appropriately in a balance that makes me happy, to that of anyone else.

We're all good.

Picture Pages

a few more album pages ...

Incident Report

Oh, I knew every day wouldn't be as good as the first, but I certainly wasn't expecting the second day of daycare to be so, so much worse.

Drop off went fine, and yesterday's report card indicates Cayden had fun and was "cheerful" most of the day, but then there are a few pieces of the puzzle that certainly don't add up to an entirely "cheerful" experience...

First, upon pick-up I could hear my boy crying from all the way down the hall.  I opened the door to the bears room to find him and two little girls sitting in their lunch/arts-and-crafts seats at the table, with a teacher I haven't met yet, Kristy.  There he is, big fat tears running down his puffy face, and hard-crying snot all over the place.  As soon as he saw me, he reached for me.

Miss Kristy asked if he had stranger anxiety, and I told her no, he's never had a problem with new interactions.  I did confirm for her it was the second day of his first-ever daycare experience, and she concluded his anxiety must just be normal adjustment to a new routine.

So then I gathered the poor little puddle of tears out of his chair, wiped his nose, grabbed his bags and noticed two pieces of paper in his cubby.

The report card clued me in to his 5:30 meltdown: he had only napped for an hour and 10 minutes yesterday.  My boy is a pretty steady three-hour-a-day napper.  So I realized Cayden's problem wasn't stranger anxiety and it likely wasn't adjustment stress.  Rather, it was I-don't-want-to-stack-and-knock-over-blocks-because-I'm-exhausted-and-please-oh-please-just-give-me-my-blue-blankie-so-I-can-go-to-sleep anxiety.

And he had a second day in a row of all wet diapers, but no soiled ones.  Since Cayden typically has one or two daytime poops, I've drawn the conclusion that my boy is a nervous pooper.  He's not totally comfortable in the new setting, yet, so he's not relaxed enough to poop.  He saves his poops for those he knows and loves.

So after drawing all these conclusions about a less-than great second day at school, then I read the second piece of paper.  The Incident Report.

Day number two of daycare, and we have our first Incident Report.

"Cayden was playing when a friend bit him on the back.  Treated with washing, ice and TLC."

So rather than go to Toys'R'Us after daycare to spend a birthday gift card on a new toy, as we had planned to do, I called Daddy, gave him the short-and-sweet, and told him we were heading home.

Cayden's shirt came off the minute we were inside the house, and damned if he doesn't have a red, slightly swollen toddler BITE MARK on his right shoulder blade.  Somebody bit him hard enough -- through his clothes, no less -- to leave a lasting mark.  Still there this morning. 

I imagine some rabid little kid pinning my boy down while gnawing maliciously on his back.  Brian immediately wanted to find out which "friend" this was, to contemplate retaliation.  Because boy retaliation would be totally different than girl retaliation.  But either way, Brian's pretty sure there are toddler kung-fu classes around here.  And Grandma delicately inquired if we should call the doctor and get any shots because of the bite.

Then we all calmed down and realized this is the first of what will likely be many incident reports at school.  We're just hoping Cayden doesn't internalize the incident and return to school next Thursday with a vendetta.  It's not out of the question though: after being bitten at daycare when Brian was little, a day or two later he received his own incident report, because he had bitten his biter back in retaliation.

Anyway, it was a tough second day of school.  And a poor day of napping means a poor night of sleeping, so my poor boy was up at 2:30 a.m., 4:30 a.m. and 5:30 a.m.

Here's hoping for a better couple of school days next week...

Joining the Bears

Today was Cayden's first day of school.  Daycare, that is, where he joined the Bears (12 - 24 month olds) at U-Gro.

All in all, it was a great day for Cayden and a better experience than Mama or Daddy expected.  Our access code worked without a hitch, Cayden's cubbies and nametags were all prepared for his arrival and Miss Rose was impressed with and excited to participate in our cloth diapering regimen.

I struggled to get a "first day of school" photo of the Chicken Wing, because as soon as we set him down, he took off for the toy shelves he became familiar with over the course of his three pre-enrollment visits.  Left us in the dust.  Which is great for him, I suppose.  So I had to snap this from outside the room, in the hallway.  There he is, sitting in the center of the room, watching Miss Rose love on one of his new girlfriends.

Although our first drop-off exceeded all my expectations (I don't know what I would have done, had he clung to us or begged for us to return, from the other side of the glass), I couldn't help but shed two "oh, how he's growing up" tears as we walked out the door, to our cars.  But two tears, one down each cheek, ain't bad. 

Daddy surprised me a bit, though.  First for his insistence to attend each pre-enrollment visit, then to drive separately to see Shorty off on his first morning of school.  As he wiped the two tears off my cheeks, he admitted to me that this was harder than he expected it to be, and he made me promise to call and check on Shorty mid-day, then report how the little guy was doing to Daddy.

We are so grateful for that loving, concerned Daddy of ours that is so eager to actively participate in every aspect of this parenting gig.  Did I mention Daddy about sprinted out to the driveway when I pulled in this evening, dying to hear how pick-up went?

Pick up was fine.  He was so content at school, in fact, it took me three "Excuse me"'s before Cayden finally turned away from playtime to recognize me at 5:30.  Seems he had a great, fun- and friend-filled day.

And his first report card shows it. My favorite part? Well, there are two: First that he tried to eat the paint (again), and secondly, check out how his snacks and lunch went. Shouldn't have expected anything less than all "everything" checkmarks.  My only remaining question or concern about daycare is this: How on earth do they feed 8 to 10 kids tomato soup at the same time??

Kicking off the second year album

Toddling to Two has officially been started.  First page down: first haircut.  And the empty circle under the headline?  That's where Shorty's first professionally sheared lock will be taped, once the album is done and printed, oh, about 11.5 months from now.

Other news of note? Mimi taught Cayden how to wink yesterday, and yesterday evening he hosed the kitchen floor with a surprising volume and impressively forceful stream of pee. And once he was done peeing, he giggled right at Dad. No, we're not potty training, I just made the mistake of parading him around naked between bathtime and jammies last night.

Ugh, I forgot how much teething sucks

Seventh tooth and a stuffy nose, all in one night.  This may prove to be a long one...

The Party

What a great afternoon.  Loved ones, good food, a great photographer: we couldn't have asked for anything more.

Look who is "so big!"

Showing off a little "mad scientist."

Comin' atcha.

Wait, Mama, didn't we just do this a few days ago?

A little post-cake bath on the deck.

And on to opening presents, with a little help from Max.












Drum sticks?

Yes, please!!

And a shot of the whole little fam.