I was doing dishes while Mr napped. Suddenly I heard Him singing. I smiled. He does that all the time, just wakes up and entertains Himself with His own personalized soundtrack for awhile before calling me to get Him up. But then I stopped smiling and got a dumb confused look on instead. Because why did He sound so close? And getting closer?
I stepped out into the living room, and there He was.
C: "Mister! How did you get out of your crib? You're supposed to be napping!"
Mr: "Well now, Mommy. I counted, a 10. 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, and count a 1-2-3. And that's a long TIME, a long of SECONDS, and is ENOUGH napping, and well, Mommy. I just a busy guy. Got some trucks here."
And just like that he went off to make a train out of trucks.
I knew it was the end of an era, but I didn't realize how serious it was.
Because that night, I put Him in bed like always, and like always He pulled the blankets up to His chin, rolled over onto His side, and went to sleep. Maybe it was a one time thing.
But later, the peace of the morning was shattered, sort of literally, by the sound of a huge crash, something glass smashing, and then, after the briefest vacuum of silence (all parents know the terror of this moment), the hysterical screaming of my son.
Peanuts you can believe I was on my feet and across the house before my brain had even fully registered those sounds.
There are moments (many while driving in DC traffic) in which I have to believe in guardian angels, because nothing else can explain the miraculous escape from injury. This was totally one of those times.
Little Mister rose from the midst of epic wreckage like a giant at the end of a good smiting. There were broken shards of green, a storm of pennies and quarters, and scattered random keys and little things. Oh. And an iPad.
Mister had awakened first, let Himself out of bed, and wandered out of His room to spy an iPad sitting on the high shelf over our entry table. It was up there, of course, to be out of sight, out of mind, out of reach.
He pushed a big chair over to the table, climbed up, and must have stood on His very tip-toes on that narrow table to reeeeaaaaaach for His prize. Something went wrong there, because the iPad, the shelf, the Boy, and the big ceramic dish full of change all took a big leap into the arms of gravity and hit the linoleum by the front door. Pennies for miles. Pennies for days. Pennies in places we didn't know we could find pennies.
And that dish. J and I got that dish in a small village outside Budapest, on one of the best trips we've ever had. I kept it over the doorway so I could see it throughout the day. It reminded me of a beautiful, peaceful place, and a time when J and I were so happy there was actual bliss going on, guys. It was our first trip as parents on our own, such a wonderful adventure we promised ourselves we'd do one every year.
Well, we modified that promise due to Life. But the dish stayed the same, and was a special piece of proof that the whole dream really happened. Also, it was really pretty.
Still, as I looked at the splinters of it while folding my crying son into my lap, all I could be was thankful that the dish got broken, and not Little Mister. He somehow emerged without a scratch or bruise.
Somethings can't be replaced, like intrepid little boys who try to steal illicit material while their parents are sleeping.
I can't exactly replace that hand-thrown dish either. But as I swept up the pieces, I called to mind all the memories of our trip and tried to tuck them into my mind somewhere they won't get lost. The memories don't mean less because their icon is gone. Honestly, I would have kept that dish. It would have been one of the things that would be too hard not to keep. But life and Mister did it for me. Thanks for the assist guys!
As for that Mister, He won the freedom of His Big Boy Bed. Sometimes He wakes up ready for action in the wee hours and terrorizes us by jumping on our heads or pitter-pattering up and down the hall at 3am. But for the most part, He just sleeps. Like the big two-year old boy He is, somehow and all the sudden.
So. I had this pretty Hungarian ceramic. I had this little baby, this last little baby, sleeping in a crib.
I let them go.
I stepped out into the living room, and there He was.
C: "Mister! How did you get out of your crib? You're supposed to be napping!"
Mr: "Well now, Mommy. I counted, a 10. 9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, and count a 1-2-3. And that's a long TIME, a long of SECONDS, and is ENOUGH napping, and well, Mommy. I just a busy guy. Got some trucks here."
And just like that he went off to make a train out of trucks.
I knew it was the end of an era, but I didn't realize how serious it was.
Because that night, I put Him in bed like always, and like always He pulled the blankets up to His chin, rolled over onto His side, and went to sleep. Maybe it was a one time thing.
But later, the peace of the morning was shattered, sort of literally, by the sound of a huge crash, something glass smashing, and then, after the briefest vacuum of silence (all parents know the terror of this moment), the hysterical screaming of my son.
Peanuts you can believe I was on my feet and across the house before my brain had even fully registered those sounds.
There are moments (many while driving in DC traffic) in which I have to believe in guardian angels, because nothing else can explain the miraculous escape from injury. This was totally one of those times.
Little Mister rose from the midst of epic wreckage like a giant at the end of a good smiting. There were broken shards of green, a storm of pennies and quarters, and scattered random keys and little things. Oh. And an iPad.
Mister had awakened first, let Himself out of bed, and wandered out of His room to spy an iPad sitting on the high shelf over our entry table. It was up there, of course, to be out of sight, out of mind, out of reach.
He pushed a big chair over to the table, climbed up, and must have stood on His very tip-toes on that narrow table to reeeeaaaaaach for His prize. Something went wrong there, because the iPad, the shelf, the Boy, and the big ceramic dish full of change all took a big leap into the arms of gravity and hit the linoleum by the front door. Pennies for miles. Pennies for days. Pennies in places we didn't know we could find pennies.
And that dish. J and I got that dish in a small village outside Budapest, on one of the best trips we've ever had. I kept it over the doorway so I could see it throughout the day. It reminded me of a beautiful, peaceful place, and a time when J and I were so happy there was actual bliss going on, guys. It was our first trip as parents on our own, such a wonderful adventure we promised ourselves we'd do one every year.
Well, we modified that promise due to Life. But the dish stayed the same, and was a special piece of proof that the whole dream really happened. Also, it was really pretty.
Still, as I looked at the splinters of it while folding my crying son into my lap, all I could be was thankful that the dish got broken, and not Little Mister. He somehow emerged without a scratch or bruise.
Somethings can't be replaced, like intrepid little boys who try to steal illicit material while their parents are sleeping.
I can't exactly replace that hand-thrown dish either. But as I swept up the pieces, I called to mind all the memories of our trip and tried to tuck them into my mind somewhere they won't get lost. The memories don't mean less because their icon is gone. Honestly, I would have kept that dish. It would have been one of the things that would be too hard not to keep. But life and Mister did it for me. Thanks for the assist guys!
As for that Mister, He won the freedom of His Big Boy Bed. Sometimes He wakes up ready for action in the wee hours and terrorizes us by jumping on our heads or pitter-pattering up and down the hall at 3am. But for the most part, He just sleeps. Like the big two-year old boy He is, somehow and all the sudden.
So. I had this pretty Hungarian ceramic. I had this little baby, this last little baby, sleeping in a crib.
I let them go.
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