Call me...

Call me a bad mother. Not as in bad-mamma-jamma, but bad as in: for shame!

I am having difficulty dealing with Adrian's new spate of little-person behaviors. Maybe it's because I'm used to him being such a compliant happy chap, maybe it's because we're both stubborn, but there are days when I think: I wish I could sign you up for school because you are getting on my nerves.
And it's not that he's mean or bad or even mischievous, it's that he has so much energy and can't seem to put a lid on it when the lid needs to be put on. And the emphatic refusal of any suggestions that might help him to productively spend the energy is quite trying. Example? How about jumping rather than hitting things with toys? How about putting on some music and dancing rather than using baby toys as nunchucks in the vicinity of the cats? How about we go outside and kick the ball around rather than jumping off the couch?

Which brings us to grievance time: some obnoxious neighborhood kids have walked off with Adrian's soccer ball(in addition to his two kickballs). These are probably the same kids that come up into our driveway when we're not here to play in his sand table. Just a tip, kids: if you're going to play with other people's stuff when they're not around you might want to put it back the way you found it. I have a feeling they'd probably make off with the table if they could shift it. It's a pity that I haven't caught them, but I am thinking of posting a large sign in the front yard that says:
NO HALLOWEEN CANDY UNLESS ALL OF ADRIAN'S TOYS ARE RETURNED.

I am prematurely a cranky old lady.

photo-heavy post

Fiona Leigh as of last week. I just can't get enough of those chubby, kissable cheeks! I'm still waiting for her to roll over...and she is showing no inclination to do so. Ah well. All in good time, I guess.


Adrian's new race car apron, made by yours truly. He wears it when he helps me in the kitchen. He is an excellent stirrer, measurer, and dumper of canned things into pots. And to answer the question "who does Adrian look like?" Take at look at this:



Me, circa 1984. (Photo courtesy of Aunt Carmela)

my least favorite phrase

uttered by Adrian, usually from another room:
I spilled just a little bit.

Fiona Leigh and Zombie Boy

Here are my two lovlies yesterday.

Fiona Leigh is an all-night sleeper and a smiley happy baby. She's pushing up on her belly, laughing a little bit, and trying like crazy to get her arms to follow her commands. She loves to watch Adrian, the television, and the cats.

Adrian is...well, he's almost 3. He's willful and determined, curious and fearless. He's remarkably sweet with his sister and crazy wild fool with his best friend. He's also decided that sleeping is for weenies and he's not going have any of it. You can imagine my joy at this new development. He's also decided that he's going to be a superhero when he grows up. Either that or a delivery man.

It's good to have goals.

a little too quiet...

Adrian goes downstairs to amuse himself while I nurse Fiona before her nap. She falls asleep and I put her in bed. Then I realize that I haven't heard a peep out of Adrian for at least 5 minutes...
I creep downstairs and HOLY CRAP THERE'S PAINT ON THE CARPET.
Turns out little man scaled the bar to reach the paint and then decided to empty 5 containers into one cup. When he turned around and saw me he cheerfully announced: I'm mixing the colors!

Yes. Yes you are.