Small Things 1-31-13
1. It was warm today. Like 57* when we woke up and our snow-covered world had melted off to mud and green overnight. And it stayed warm–at least warm enough to run the baby outside until he was pink-cheeked with laughter. He threw “big rocks” (gravel) into a “pond” (planter filled with melted ice) and made big “splooshes” until he completely filled in the pond. Then he threw leaves and twigs in, and poked at the resulting mess with a big stick.
By the time I dragged him inside for a bath he was filthy with mud, melted mucky water, and smears of garden dirt all over his body. His hands were blotched red with cold, his nose running so fast I couldn’t keep up with the wiping of it.
He was gloriously, giddily happy.
2. Another excellent playgroup day today. So nice to have a place to take him & let him play independently for a couple of hours. Even if he does get so tired that naptime (which happens immediately after playgroup) becomes a squirm of power-struggles until he collapses on my shoulder.
3. Oh, this kid hates being scolded. Not so much, mind you, that he’s rushing to do everything right, oh no. But enough that he now pouts, hides his face and waits for someone to say, “What’s wrong, Hen?” after he’s been scolded or even just spoken to sternly. Oi. Little drama queen.
4. Third day in a row of coming into his bedroom in the morning after he’s been awake for an hour or so and finding dozens of books on the floor, him curled up in a chair, wearing his glasses, happily reading his books.
My librarian/bibliophile/writer heart just overflows with the hope that we’re raising a kid who might enjoy reading as much as we do.
5. The cat, despite her apparent disinterest in anything that isn’t immediately edible, seems to be keeping the mice at bay. At least, we aren’t overrun the way we were this time last year. I have a trap in the pantry that hasn’t been sprung (or nibbled clean) in two weeks. That’s amazing for a mouse-warren of an old farmhouse like this.
Yay cat. You’re earning your keep, even if you do eat more kibble than the dog. No really. She does. Also, she snacks on the dogfood and scatters bits of it all over the house. And wakes up at 6am and proceeds to pounce on my eyelashes. The Boy must really love me (or really hate mice even more than I do) because even though he can’t stand the cat, he’s never breathed so much as a hint that he wishes she weren’t here, interrupting our sleep and littering the floor with chewed-on cat toys and bits of kibble.
Of course, she’s also curled up in my arms as I type this, loving the warm room, the heat coming off the woodstove, hindering me hardly at all, and purring madly. Every so often she stops and pats my face and whimpers until I pet her a little more. She might be a jerk, but she’s my jerk.