Welcome to post 401!
I'd love to have lots of pithy things to say about posting 400 times in 4 years, but the long hard truth is: having babies makes you tired. Being tired makes you kind of dumb.
In other news, I took some classes at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and did a little blogging about it here. It made me think that I really would've kicked ass at Art School, if I hadn't been talked out of going. It also made me realize that I'm going to have to wait another 6 months to a year before I get back into a heavy art work schedule again.
Adrian is making me crazy--as only little boys can! This morning I had to tell him: don't eat your boogers, eat your breakfast.
Also, he has become exceedingly anxious about damn near everything and I find it really awful. Like for pete's sake kid, when I am in the bathroom I have no intention of climbing out the window to freedom. I don't need an escort. Does he heed these sage and sensible words? No. Instead I have had to explain to him what a period is and why boys don't get them. Although I am far more comfortable with that than I am with the opposite end of life. And don't think we've escaped the questions about death, either. OH NO. In fact he is quite fascinated by the whole thing and asks relentless questions about the expiration of life. Thank gods we haven't gotten to the metaphysics of death yet because that is a multi-cultural, multi-religious can of worms that I am not sure how to approach.
And in addition to his fascination with death, we have a fascination with superheroes! And bad guys! And how bad guys can be beat up by super heroes! And how quite possibly, the answer to all of life's disappointments is the beating up of the "bad guy" of the moment! Enter in threats of violence coupled with actual brute force. There's been manyMANYmany time outs for hitting, kicking, pushing, punching, and throwing directed at people. Frequently at Fiona Leigh, because in Adrian's rosy view of the world, life was better before she got here. I will give her credit though--she has no qualms about hitting him square in the face when he starts the melee.
As for my part, I remember being angry enough to hit my younger sibling, but I know it wasn't a daily, hourly occurrence. I also remember being really anxious about the monsters in my closet who were out to steal my opposable thumbs--but that was when I was 5. So maybe the whole furious/anxious Adrian is just genetic code, which means he should grow out of it. In the meantime, his butt will wear a groove into the time out spot and I will count the gray hairs as they arrive.
So far, we're up to 3.