The farm. We went, we saw, we petted, we smelled (the animals, that is, although now that I think about it, we probably smelled afterward as well). We also got a little bit wet and muddy but Will loved every second of it. It was nice for me to see him with his preschool friends (the little ladies' man was holding hands with a little girl at one point--does it really start this early?) and to witness the fact that he is actually capable of sitting still and listening to someone who isn't (a) his mother and/or (b) holding his chin, positioning herself directly in his line of sight while he twists this way and that to avoid her and repeatedly saying things like "Look at my eyes while I'm talking to you" or some other such nonsense. I have no idea why he'd not want to sit still and listen for me.
Learning about what goes into compost. This was a hit, mainly because they got to hold worms.
Planting some sort of bean.
And, finally, "gently" petting a baby chick.
The following evening, Grammie (my mom) arrived and Will nearly imploded from sheer excitement and anticipation. We always love when Mom visits, but Will gets especially "exciting" for Grammie time. For us, it's a powerful reminder of how incredibly nice it would be to be closer to our families (we actually got to go on a last minute Easter bunny shopping trip with only one of our offspring--the one who's still immobile for shopping trip purposes--and not two! It felt like a vacation!) for a wide variety of reasons. But...we're pretty much staying put and I don't think anyone's uprooting to move to Cincinnati so I'll stop there and snap back to reality.
(Tangent alert: Back to my reality where I drag both of the kids everywhere with me, like this morning when we were at Target and I had really tested Laura's limits, in part because I tried to cram in a visit to the athletic clothing section for some more comfy pants for me, of all things. She was starting to get fussy in the checkout line and I turned around to see her screaming and Will trying to shove a handful of Cheerios into her wailing mouth. Of course, she got madder, I did the old finger sweep of the mouth, she continued to get madder and started coughing and gagging. All the while Will was petting her head telling her "I'm right here, Baby Sister" and everyone around us was staring uncertainly at our traveling road show. Surprisingly, these types of scenarios don't even phase me anymore. If it had been Will gagging on a handful of Cheerios, I'd have stopped, ripped him out of the buggy posthaste, called 911, performed an elaborate dance approximating CPR since I only have a dim recollection of the actual procedure, and then taken him immediately to his pediatrician's office despite the fact that he was obviously perfectly unharmed. This time, though, I patted her on the back a few times, kissed her, paid for our stuff and went to McDonald's for some coffee without replaying the scene in my head a thousand times. I'm not sure if this acquired laxity about the second child is just a coping mechanism or if it's actually detrimental to all of us.)
Where was I? The Easter bunny made a quick stop here and left some goodies, including a bike for Will. (Laura got a little shortchanged this year, as she got some board books, a Very Hungry Caterpillar toy and candy that was actually for me. What does a one year old really need?) While Will was excited to see that the Easter bunny had left presents on Sunday morning, he went straight for Laura's caterpillar and ignored his basket and bike until we directed him to his own stuff. I guess that just says that he would've also been pleased with just a few board books and a caterpillar of his own. Duly noted.
We took Will to the high school parking lot to test out his bike and he was just beside himself. He kept racing by Laura and me shouting, "I'm having so much fun, Mommy! Can we stay here longer?" I kept thinking about how much older he suddenly seemed, navigating around the parking lot on his own personally-designed obstacle course, testing just how fast he was comfortable going, just how far from us he was willing to wander. (Too fast and too far, in case there's any doubt.) A passerby would have seen a little boy on a bike, decidedly not a toddler anymore. His mommy, though, saw her big boy but thought about a tiny little baby in a blue linen romper and gingham hat, snuggled in his never-before-used car seat under too many blankets (see? paranoid first-time parent), on his way home from the hospital. Four years ago.
How is he old enough to ride a bike?
This picture perfectly captures my typical stance at any given moment. Laura is breastfeeding and Will is on the move, so I'm positioned where I can assist if need be. An accurate title for his vignette could be something like "The Story of My Life."
And speaking of the story of my life, the laundry is calling my name. (Metaphorically speaking, of course, even though we currently have enough laundry to be done that it warrants being labeled as a Situation.) More soon...
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