Instead of a toddler, we now are the temporary parents of the Snausage Dog. He is definetely a lot older now. He’s a lot calmer. Less barking. He still takes issues with the cats, but less so. I think he realizes that they just mock him, and he will never be able to catch them. He’s more cynical in his old age.
The creaking ceilings withe upstairs neighbors are less menacing. He does get into it every once in a while, but not so much anymore. Most of the time, he has no issues with the neighbors walking around in their own apartment.
However, the ice cream truck. That is a different story. And that ice cream truck with his fucking song comes round every half hour starting at probably like 4 pm all the way to 8/9 pm. And each time, Snausage needs to tell him what is what. I agree with him, but it’s still annoying.
After the tears at the security line, I get a call half hour later:
O: Mommy, there are a lot of planes here at the airport. Look, I see one in the air.
Me: What colors are they.
O: This one is white. I don’t know which one is our plane. I don’t think it’s here yet.
Me: I’m sure it will get there [UPDATE: it actually doesn’t, but that is not O’s problem. That is Grandma and Papa’s problem.]
O: Grandma, got me cookies. Ok, bye!
I guess the tears where bought away by cookies!
The doors to our house are probably the original doors that were put in when the house was built over 100 years ago. They expand and contract with the weather. Because DH can’t leave well enough alone, last summer he painted the doors. Yes, they look much nicer, but the paint makes the door stick. They were sanded down and fixed, and worked. Now these old doors, which were already giving us a headache no longer line up to closer properly. And they because the anchor at the bottom is now missing, we had improvise and add some bricks to make sure the door opens.
O, the ever helpful elf, decided to help Daddy in his project to fix the doors. She was right in the middle with screwdrivers and tons of encouraging words, such as, “Daddy, the door doesn’t work.” “Daddy, you can’t close the door.” “Daddy, why aren’t you fixing the door?” “Daddy, when will you fix the door?” “Daddy, look a cat. We hate cats, right?” She is a toddler after all and gets easily distracted. But being in the middle of the door fixing situation certainly helped Daddy!
Last night at bath time, Barbie had a much needed spa day. She had her hair shampooed and conditioned to her original silkiness. Her hair was untangled (a very difficult procedure and quite painful for her). An aggressive exfoliating treatment using a Pumice stone. A bubble bath. Soothing discussion. And shaving of her legs using my shaver.
Mommy, Look what Barbie is doing!!!
I had to change the blade. Fortunately, none of her plastic legs were damaged.
Last night she came in our bed again. This time she has changed her story. Before she just waddled in. Now, she goes after the heart strings. “Mommy, it’s really hot in my room.” Which it can be. So she comes in the bed. Which means, I go in the middle, and if DH is not in a sharing mood. I squished between poky, sharp elbows (O), and immovable mountain that is DH. So basically, I haven’t slept.
This morning, I wake her up as soon as the alarm goes off. Because if I didn’t sleep, then she should get up and make it to work on time. I go in there, and she just moves around. I go back in 5 minutes. Mommy, can I have one more sleep??
Her room does get hot, and we were watching some show, and a commercial came for this cool pillow. She’s watching it intently, and then says, Mommy, I think I really need this. And I think she might. She sweats up her pillow like no one else I know.
This weekend we escaped the heat away from New York. As we were driving back yesterday, I almost melted when I came out of the car.
As O and I were splashing around in the water this was our conversation:
O: Mommy, do you have a baby in your belly?
Me: No, why.
O: Cause your belly is so fat. (Cackles of laughter, as she floats away.)
Thanks, O, that really nice!