Saturday, July 24, 2010

Saturday Sanity Score

Today, I had a Saturday Sanity Score.  Yeah, say that three times. 

On any given Saturday morning, you are most likely to find me shopping in someone's front yard, garage, or maybe even inside thier house.  Doing this gives me time to clear my head, only be responsible for me, and just enjoy the solitude of being me.

My husband used to roll his eyes at me for bringing home other people's junk and having actually paid our hard earned money for it.  After watching me buy stuff and resell it for profit and also bringing him home a few awesome items ($50 golf shirt for a buck anyone?)...well, he is now on board with how I choose to spend "Marcia" time.  Today, he didn't even roll his eyes when I brought in a bag of boy's clothes (mostly for my soon to arrive nephew) and two boxes of girl clothes.  Of course, he doesn't yet know (well, he will if/when he reads this update) that I also bought a couple of other items that are still in the back of my truck. 

There are a select few of you who are still wondering why I bought two boxes of girl clothes.  He is why.  The daddy of the house was selling them cheap!  He was also selling these two items: 
This cradle is made by Davinci and sells anywhere from $150 and up.

This stroller is a Graco Metrolite in gender neutral Rittenhouse print, which sells for $125 and up. 

That is $275 worth of retail price for these two items.  Yes, I know...but Marcia, those are the prices for these items when they are new. These items are used.  Ok, but just go ahead and come show me where there is sign of use in this cradle.  The cradle appears to be brand new.  In fact, this cradle looks newer than the crib we have in storage...the one my kid only slept in for a sum total of 3 nights.  The stroller has been broken in, but overall its in great shape as well. 

No, I don't need these items right now.  Sorry, but this is NOT my way of announcing a pregnancy if any of you had hopes for that.  However, I do know a bargain when I see one.  In fact, I am pretty sure that it was an outright sin for how cheap I bought these two items.  Before I tell you what I paid, let me also tell you that the guy GAVE me a box of girl clothes that apparently have stains and such.  I didn't even rummage through the box, I just took it.  I also bought another box of clothes (babyGap, Carters, etc) while I was at it since the most any item was priced was fifty cents.  I paid .30 for a onesie and two pairs of pants that I promise you will bring at least 10 times that if not more at the consignment sale this fall.  So are you ready for the total price I paid for the cradle and stroller?  Are you sure?  Ok. 


Yes, twelve bucks. 

He started at $15 for both.  I offered $12 while trying not to mess myself with excitement.  Dude could have sold the cradle for 3 times that price...easy.  He even took it apart for me and loaded it into my truck.  Nice!  After we agreed that the stroller/cradle was sold, I started sorting through the clothing.  No fewer than 4 different ladies asked about the cradle and stroller while I was sorting.  I am pretty sure there would have been a boxing match if he had told them what I was going to pay for them! 

So, that was my Saturday morning Sanity Steal!  How did I do?

Thursday, July 22, 2010


I was eight years old when my brother entered my world.  I say entered because that is exactly what he did.  He was born on August 24 of that year.  I found out that he existed on August 26th.  If my parents had known that he wouldn't come home until August 28th, I wouldn't have found out about him until August 27th.  You do the math.  Backwards right.  Usually a child of eight years old knows very well that she is getting a brother or sister months in advance.  Not me.  My brother is adopted.  I had longed for a brother or sister for years when my parents set me down that day in August and asked if I still wanted a brother or sister.  I replied yes.  They surprised me by saying that was good because I had a brother and he was coming home the next day.  To the world, my parents were blessed with a new baby and I was blessed with a little brother.  In my world, I was blessed with a new baby to raise.  And raise him is exactly what I set out to do.  My mom humored me.  Well, she didn't humor me that one time when I was babysitting him and I didn't change his dirty diaper for over two hours and he had an awful rash as a result.  In fact, she yelled at me and grounded me.  That didn't stop me from telling my mom exactly how to raise my brother.  Again, she humored me.  As my brother grew, he had two momma bears to protect him, scold him, and play with him.  One of us also antagonized him. 

Somewhere around the age of 15, my brother warped my world.  He told yelled at me in frustration one day that he didn't need two moms.  He needed a mom and a sister.  My heart broke.  My anger rose.  I couldn't find any words.  That might be the single time in my life that my brother has silenced me. Anyone who knows us well also knows that this is no simple task. 

Over the past several months, I have had the chance to hear my brother say how he intends to raise his child.  He knows what his child will be allowed to do, say, behave, etc.  He knows how the child will be disciplined when the time for discipline arises (which will be often since apples don't fall far from trees!).  I was there once too.  I now completely laugh at that "pre-mommy of my own child" self.  I do my best to humor my brother and just nod my head.  I might or might not have a bruise later for writing that. 

Last weekend, we were having dinner with my several extended family members.  My son was being two.  He was done eating before the meal arrived.  He wanted to do whatever his 9 year old cousin was doing.  He wanted to show his roots and talk at the top of his lungs.  Yes, being two. 

At one point, my son ran from the table and was headed for the front door.  My brother jumped up to go after him.  He was talking very sternly to my son when he returned.  Holy momma bear clash of internal reactions.  Part of me (Kale's momma bear) wanted to protect my child from the scolding he was receiving.  The other part of me (momma beat to my brother) knew that my brother was raised to know how to handle the situation and to let him get some practice because a stern talk from his uncle wasn't going to do long term damage to my son.  My inner momma bears for each of them went to war.  It was a flash moment.  Here and gone within seconds.  I totally wasn't expecting it and it humored me. 

Recently my brother called me Mom Jr. and rolled his eyes.  I rolled my eyes right back and took the title as a compliment.  His day is coming!

Monday, July 19, 2010

Something Gave...

Something gave.  Sort of, anyway.  We went to my parents house on Friday and Kale got to sleep in our room with us (usually slept with my parents in a king size bed).  My mom moved his toddler bed into our room there.  Kale slept for an hour on the way to my parents.  Then, he played, played, played before eating dinner.  After a bath, he was ready for sleep.  By golly, sleep he did.  He only drank half of his "go to sleep" bottle and at 3am when he woke up, he was happy to get the other half of the bottle and drift off back to sleep in his toddler bed.  We all woke up happy the next morning.  I told Ep that I slept so well that I actually had "sleepy" in my eyes.  Whoa!

Kale wore himself and his Mema and Papaw out on Saturday.  We ate dinner with all of our immediate family, except for Ep's sister Wendi.  We missed her and hope she can join us next time.  By the end of dinner, Kale's exhaustion was starting to show.  He went home with Mema and Papaw and it didn't take a lot of coercion to get him to go to sleep.  He woke up again around 3am and went to get into bed with Mema.  He was then out until morning. 

Yesterday, he finished wearing out Mema and Papaw on the tractor, tractor, and more tractor.  He took a short nap and then we headed to Little Rock.  After helping unload the truck, Kale and I went back outside to water our "vegbatles".  There are some givens when watering with Kale:  he will drop his pants and do his own version of watering the grass, he will get you wet when its his turn to water the vegetables, and you won't be able to resist getting him a little wet either.  Ep came out to find both of us (me, Kale) soaked from head to toe and having a good time.  I think we watered ourselves just as much as the plants.  It was so hot and it just felt really good!  Nothing like hosing off with our kid as you both laugh and play on a hot summer day! 

We then went inside and both took a shower while Ep fixed dinner (leftovers) for everyone.  After dinner, all of us slowed down pretty fast.  Kale went to bed, didn't drink all of his milk, and zonked out.  Ep was right behind him.  At 3am, I heard Kale cry out in his sleep.  I went to check on him, gave him some milk, and covered him back up.  He slept in his bed until 6:30am.  Yippppeeee!

What gave?  I think its called just wearing him out.  He has more energy than seems humanly possible.  He goes, goes, goes all day long.  We just have to find an outlet for him on the days when we don't have any go left.  After a long day at work, trying to figure out dinner, and just handle life in general....finding a couple of hours to just play outside is kind of hard.  I know, so many parents struggle with this.  Yet, this is what Kale needs.  Time to run.  Something else is going to have to give if we want him to keep sleeping this way at night...because something gave this weekend and the kid slept like a rock star and we all loved it! 

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Something or Someone has to give (soon)

Something has to give.  Or someone has to give.  Or maybe its a little of both?  I need more quality sleep and not to wake up in a pee smelling bed most every morning lately. 

We have two (bottle and co-sleeping) struggles at night in our house.  Kale still gets bottles at night to go to sleep.  He gave up the paci on his own at 4 months.  He is not slowly edging toward 3 and still hooked on the bottle because it became his "comfort thing".  He wakes up in the night, comes to join us in our bed, and asks demands more milk.  What happens next is where things go south.  Either I trudge out of bed and get him more milk or he throws a "hell hath no fury like a toddler told no" fit.  A kicking, screaming, flopping 2 year old at 1am--I don't think there is even a adequate word for it.  On a good night, one dose of milk will get us to the morning hours when its time to wake up. On not so good nights, somebody (usually me) is bouncing off walls to the kitchen and back 2-3 times.  The reward?  Usually we have a wet bed by morning on those not so good nights.  I can't really blame the pull up for letting us down in that situation.  In the middle of the night, neither one of us seems to have the energy (willpower?) to try to take him back to his bed and make him stay there. 

Last night, I gave something new a try.  I was flying by the seat of my pants with it.  Kale came to our bed and asked for milk.  I got him the milk.  An hour later, he woke up and asked for more milk.  I refused.  Holy fit.  My husband's back took a beating (sorry babe!) because he was on the foot end of Kale.  I had the flopping and whailing head.  Yet, I refused him.  Finally, I told Kale that if he wanted milk, he had to go back to his bed to drink it.  By golly, it worked.  Sort of.  He went and got into his bed and I delivered his milk.  He thin stayed there until a little before 6am.  He crawled into our bed and asked for milk.  Before I could refuse him, he was snoring.  He woke up around 7am, told me he was wet but not to touch him.  Ok.  He zonked back out.  Yes, I let him lay there asleep in his pee.  Do I win the mommy of the day award?  I got up and took a shower and fully expected a wet and irritable boy to greet me before I was done showering.  Nope.  I got dressed and still he slept.  I was putting away clothes in his room when he finally go out of our bed and meandered in.  His first comment was not about being wet, but was right on cue for the first thing he asks me most mornings: where's daddy?  I reminded him that daddy had already gone to work.  Then, just as casually as ever, he tells me he is wet.  Oh, to be two. 

I don't know all the answers and I don't even know if I have really found a new method to this crazy madness of our night life.  But something has got to give.  The bottle has to go.  The sleeping half the night in his bed, half the night in our bed needs to change too. 

I am open to suggestions....

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Living in the Bathroom

All this time, I have wondered why people spend soooo much money spiffing up thier bathrooms.  Now I know.  Its because when you have a potty training toddler, you practically LIVE in the freaking bathroom.  Ugh.

On Sunday, I spent the majority of my day in the bathroom with Kale.  Ok, really, it was only four or so hours.  You spend that many hours in the bathroom waiting for someone else to do thier will quickly feel like all day.  Trust me.  He needed to poop.  Four hours after his his first announcement that he needed to poop and about 87 trips to the bathroom later, he did finally manage to land the poop in the potty.  And oh did I cheer.  Oh how his daddy cheered.  We are still cheering! 

In the meantime, our smart child figured out yet another ploy to get our attention.  For all our differences, there is one thing that my husband and I hate: cleaning up poop from places it should not be.....such as in underwear, floors, carpet, or just about anywhere other than in the toilet.  For the record, I do not enjoy cleaning up poop in the toilet either.  Pretty sure my husband would raise his hand right here and say, me neither!  So back to our smart son.  Anytime he so much as utters the word poop, most everything stops and whoever is closest to him makes a mad run to the bathroom in the effort to get him in there, get his pants down, and get him on the potty BEFORE any poop appears. 

Our son a quick study.  Oh look, mommy is at the computer.  Mommy, I need to poop.  And like magic, the computer is left in the dust and he gets mommy's attention.  Oh look, daddy is watching someone play with a ball of some sort on tv.  Daddy, I need to poop.  Look at daddy bolt from his chair like someone announced they are giving away free cold beer and its in the bathroom. 

Just like any other marketing ploy, our son apparently comes with fine print.  If you lift him up and turn him over enough times, you will find that somewhere on his body is some fine print that says: Just because I announce that I need to poop does not mean that I will poop right now and in reality, I might not even poop today at all. 

We are suckers and we buy into the marketing ploy every single time in fear of the one time that we don't buy in, one of us will be left cleaning up poop in the hallway, carpet, and underwear.  Most trips to the bathroom include him actually getting on the potty.  Some times, it would have been easier for him just to say: I want your attention and there is no need to try to get me to pull down my pants right now because nothing is happening in that department right now.

This is one of those which is worse situations.  This is NOT one of the things people tell you about BEFORE you have kids.  In fact, its not one of the things anyone tells you about ANYTIME regarding kids...they just leave it out there to be sprung on you like a well planned surprise party.  Only there is no cake, balloons, or fun times at this party.  There is only lots of frustration and laughing at yourself when you realize that you just celebrated the fact that your child pooped. 

So, for now, if you need us....look in our hallway bathroom.  When we are home, one of us is usually losing feeling in our backside as we sit on the side of the but and coach our son. 

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Fiber (and the aftermath)

Here is your warning:  If you don't want to read about an experience with Kale and poop...stop reading NOW!

You were warned. 

Yesterday, my husband went to the grocery store to buy a few items.  He picked up some mini shredded wheat cereal for himself.  No problem there.  If he wants to eat mini shredded FIBER cereal, then he can take care of any digestive issues he might experience. 

This morning, I woke up before both my husband and son.  Shocker, I know!  I snuck out of the house for some Saturday morning sanity (garage sale shopping).  When I talked to them a little later in the morning, I found out that BOTH of them had enjoyed quite a few mini shredded wheats.  A comment was shared that the little guy would probably give us one good package later today.  Wonderful.  Given that he has successfully gone poop in the potty for us a whole ONCE, well...each time he decides he needs to poop is a struggle for everyone involved. 

I arrived home after naptime had been conquered and my husband swiftly left to go work out at the gym.  His final words to me included:  "He has only been asleep for 45 minutes."  I quietly hauled my loot into the garage and slipped into the hear a whailing boy.  Great.  Short nap.  Ok, fine. 

Where does the poop story start...oh...about....right HERE!  After he had been up for about 10 minutes, I noticed he had a bloated belly about the same time he started announcing that he needed to poop.  Up on the potty, nothing, down off the potty, put on underwear, I need to potty, back up on the potty, nothing, get down off the potty.  Granted, all of this happened in about 90 seconds and I never left the side of the bathtub.  He ran to his room because he wanted a pull up and because I am a sucky parent, I let him.  Mistake.  Sucky parents always pay.  About a foot from the bathroom door, it hit him.  It didn't hit him like a little poke in the belly.  Oh no.  This was a 326lb linebacker just rolled through his belly.  Plop, Plop, Plop and a whailing kid later...well, I had a heck of a mess to clean up.  I was smart about it though...I picked him up and set him on the potty in case there was more where that came from.  Nope, just a sprinkler hose that nailed the side of my leg and then my hand with pee as I shielded it down into the toilet.  Are we done yet?  Nope. 

I cleaned up the boy and cleaned up the mess.  I sanitized the floor, rug, toilet seat, and my hands/leg.  By then, he had decided to put on a pull up.  Don't be surprised that he once again started announcing that he needed to poop.  Lovely.  I tell him to go sit on the potty.  I follow him in there.  He stands right in front of the potty and whammo...right into his pull up.  I didn't even have the chance to put him up on the potty.  Ugh.  He was crying and I wanted to cry and was already silently cursing my husband. 

I think we are done.  I may pelt my husband with mini shredded wheat when he gets home.  And now I know what to feed my kid if he ever gets constipated.  Fun, fun times!

Friday, July 9, 2010

Colors with Kale

My child made me nervous the other day.  I always imagined he would be good at making me nervous, but I always figured he would be a daredevil and never imagined it would be his mouth causing the anxiety.  My parents are laughing right now.  You can probably hear them rolling in laughter from wherever you are reading this.  I soooo had this coming. 

I went to Kale's daycare (school) to pick him up early for a dr's appointment.  There are two teacher in his room.  One of them asked what doctor he was going to see.  Without missing a beat, he said "the black doctor".  I tried really hard to pick my chin up off the floor while also trying to figure out where that even came from.  I should pause here to tell you that it seems that about 95% of the staff at his day care are African American.  Both of Kale's teachers are undeniably African American.  Can you see where this is going yet? 

The teacher teased him and said he couldn't even talk to her anymore.  We all know that he wouldn't give three flying monkeys if she said he could talk to her or not, because he would still talk to her anyway.  So then she asks him what color am I?  This is where I wanted to run from the room or hide under the table or maybe just go throw up in one of the classroom's mini-toilets.  Instead, I just stood there alternating between a stutter and silence as I took it all in.  My head spun.  Surely, at two, he does not yet recognize race.  He just looked at the teacher and seemed a little confused.  Whew.  Or maybe not.  She asked him if she was black or white.  He answered black.  Uh-oh.  This is when my efforts to get him out of that room and out the door really kicked into gear. 

Then she asked him what color his other teacher was.  He looked straight at the other teacher and said "Vivi is orange."

She is very visibly NOT orange.  I started to regain some of my dignity and composure and even a little bit of hope that my child is still "race blind".  Both teachers tried really hard not to fall out of their chairs laughing.  I gathered his little bohiney up and we scooted out the door. 

Why is it always ME that is around him when he says this kind of stuff?  Doesn't his daddy have at least a little bit of paying for his raising to do in the mouth department?  I guess not.  Yep, thats all me.

Thursday, July 8, 2010


The last few weeks have been trying in our house.  We have a two year old who apparently is making an early bid of acting like a teenager.  We have been trying not to go crazy as we put up with/give in/stand strong against his antics.  Don't bother telling us that some of those exact reactions only encourage his behaviour.  We are still just working on controlling our own behaviors most of the time. 

At the end of the day, we all seem to hit the wall.  Lately, we have a bath rebel.  He doesn't want to take a bath.  After a short wrestling match struggle, usually we win and he gets into the tub.  Then ensues the struggle of getting him out of the tub. 

His bedtime routine has varied over the years.  Yes, we know, kids love routine.  Ideally, he would have a solid routine that would lead him to bed to sleep soundly ALL NIGHT LONG IN HIS BED.  That would truly be ideal.  Our kid is a realist.  So the reality is that we struggle to find a routine that he doesn't try to alter.  Right now, it includes rocking to lullabies for two songs.  Usually, by the time we make our way from school to play time to dinner to bath to bed, I am ready for a break.  I love to cuddle my child.  Yet, there are nights when his bed time can't come soon enough and cuddling him isn't my priority.  Stone me now.  Trust me, those stones won't do any more damage than the good dose of mommy guilt I give myself repeatedly for that realization.  Any parent worth their salt will admit they have at least felt this way once.  Any parent who hasn't...well, they win (and are probably lying!).

And here comes perspective.  When those lullabies seem to be dragging on as we rock our way into the night and I wait for him to concede he is ready to get into bed without a fight, I find my mind shifting.  It shifts to the land of guilt.  It takes me to a place with the kind of perspective that grabs your heart and shoves it up into your throat.  Most times, I can't keep the tears from welling up as I stop to consider all the parents who would give anything and everything to be rocking their child that night.  Instead, those parents are missing a child who is in Heaven.  Perspective.  My child is here with me and I owe it to every single one of those parents to slow down and love on him as much as possible.  Nevermind the fact that he is a miracle child and had his own near possibility of becoming a Heavenly Angel.  Perspective.  I hug him, squeeze him a little tighter, and kiss his head.  I am sure I know more mommies than I realize who would give anything to hug those Heavenly Angels.  I know two who constantly rush to my mind when I think that lost her baby due to a heart condition and another just lost her baby for no reason that was ever given but he was stillborn. 

I will rock my child tonight.  I will have perspective. 
God, please don't ever let me lose my perspective.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The Fifth of July

Well, yesterday was interesting. The day started with a 2 year old asking to go to school. Can I bottle that up and uncork it when he is oh....say, 6? I am thinking he will be singing a different toon by then. It was cute that he wanted to "go to school and see my friends."

I cleaned up a collective pile that was getting out of control in our room. I was wrapping that up when my husband walked in and asked if I was starting something I wasn't going to be able to finish (today). The next words out of my mouth weren't these, but hindsight is 20/20 so I sure wish I had said: NO, ARE YOU?

I got out of the house to run an errand and knew that my husband would be bringing Kale to me. I was at the mall and got a call requesting that I come join them for a quick lunch. I said yes, waited my turn to pay for the stuff I was purchasing, and then walked the entire length of the mall back to my truck. I apparently wasn't fast enough. I looked down and had several missed calls and some texts...and a voicemail saying that lunch together was no longer happening, that Kale had dirty pants, and that they were waiting for me in the parking lot of our lunch destination. Lovely. Can I just keep driving? Or not. I retrieved Kale and WE managed to change him in the parking lot without any misplaced poop. Yes, this is my life...where I am talking about pee and poop more than anything else lately. Fun times.

We each got kisses goodbye as my husband headed out for his golf game. I took Kale to the park and then to lunch. We went home and both of us crashed into naptime. I got up in time to get a few things done before littel feet came running up the hallway. We went out into the garage and started tackling all the piles of stuff out there. Four million boxes later, we had made some progress. I convinced our neighbor to cut a few inches off of our new screen door so that it could be hung and not forever live in our garage. The old screen door pretty much disassebled itself. Kale's wagon is no longer holding my free Walgreens purchases from several weeks ago. I started disassebling the boxes and managed to hurt my thumb in the process. The injury involved a hook/bladed type devide and a chunk (still attached) of my thumb. Not pretty. Kale and I took a walk over to the neighbor's house just in case I got too woozy and fell into a puddle. I didn't, but at one point I was afraid I would.

My husband brought home pizza and it was quickly clear that he never ate lunch. Holy smokes stay out of his ravenous cranky way! Despite the fact that I went back to working in the garage after supper, I had visitors who joined me out there and also inform me that I was apparently supposed to give Kale a bath and put him to bed. What happened after that wasn't pretty. We'll just summarize and say that I can still wrestle our two year old out of his clothes, am not afraid of getting drenched in bathwater, and my husband is good at sitting there watching those things unfold. I put Kale to bed. My husband helped me re-dress/sanitize my thumb. I went back to work in the garage. My husband went to bed.

I went headed to bed around midnight and before I even got into bed, Kale was joining us in bed. He kicked my husband all night. I can't say that I don't think my husband had it coming....

And that my friends, was our Fifth of July. I think next year that maybe I will have a different kind of fifth of something on standby...

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Fouth of July Fun

In true Fourth of July flair, we decided to buy fireworks this year. We introduced them to the kiddo last night. He pretty much wasn't a fan of sparklers (us holding, him watching) or anything else you would think that a toddler might like. The surprise is that he LOVES watching roman candles go off. Kids...

We had round 2 tonight. We bought more stuff like tanks, chickens, brighter sparklers, parachute men, and all kinds of things we thought he might like. You guessed it, he still just wants to watch the roman candles. Oh, and there are currently two different parachute men stuck in the trees at the end of our road. Whoops.

While we were out, it started to sound like a small war was taking shape around us. We live in the country, so there is no limit to what you can set off out here. Somebody close by loves firecrackers (the kind that have about 100+ simultaneously going off) and somebody else or maybe even the same somebody has artillery shells. Really, there have been a couple of booms that could have been a house blowing up for all we know. Seriously, its that loud.

Have you ever tried putting a two year old to bed in the midst of what sounds like a war? Yeah, he lasted about 10 minutes in his bed before he came looking for his daddy. Meanwhile, I bet the dog is out there wondering when the ducks will start falling out of the sky...he is trained to hunt and associates those loud booms with gunshot.

Seriously, it sounds like a war out there!

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Saturday morning adventure

Our morning consisted of:

Ep trying to leave our table at Frontier diner before we ever even sat down (Kale was trying to be in charge).

Kale getting a haircut and then pooping in his underwear while playing at the Thomas table. That resulted in poop on the bathroom floor, Kale, and the changing table as we tried to clean him up. We all came out alive but the only worn once pair of underwear went into the trash.

Kale got a tatoo at the place where we bought Ep's shoe inserts.

Kale saw a bulldozer and yelled about it.
Ep: Oh Lord
Kale: Oh Ward (Lord) a bullbozer!
Parents laughing led to Kale: Howhy (holy) Mowhy (moly) a bullbozer!
Me (trying to catch my breath): Oh God
Kale: Oh God, a bullbozer!
Kale: Howhy Mowhy oh Ward.

We recovered from laughing and were told: I need to go pee pee. I told Ep to stop at the first parking lot so Kale could pee. 15 parking lots, a red light, and five minutes later he pulls into a parking lot. We had a wet car seat. Then there was some verbage...

We are home and working on naptime. Well, two of us are. The other one went to run.

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