A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

TLB wanted something. He pointed to the kitchen counter from his highchair. "Nana," he said.

He wants a banana, Daddy assumed, and gave him one. Evidently it was adequate, because TLB ate it happily.

TLB pointed to the counter again. "Deh," he said. (Mommy knows that "Deh," and not "Nana," is the word for "Banana." At the time, Daddy did not.)

Daddy picked up a plastic tub of orange slices, and was met with a disgruntled whine. Wrong. He picked up a sippy cup. Wrong again. "Deh!" TLB insisted, still pointing.

It was time for a different approach. "Book," TLB said. There was, in fact, a book on the counter. Daddy handed it to him, and TLB seemed satisfied.

Daddy is a little slow this morning. Maybe an illustration would help.

TLB flipped through the book, found a picture of a banana, and pointed to it. "Deh," he said firmly.




BANANA.

Adventures

I'd forgotten how much I love being outdoors. I'd let myself get out of shape, and out of the habit. "It's too hot. I'll get a headache. Best wait until the weather is cooler."

But you know what? It's really not that hot. In fact, today was a gorgeous day for adventure in Palatka, Florida, of all places.

The Ravine Gardens State Park is a gem hidden in Palatka. Until a couple weeks ago, I'd had no idea it was there. I just happened to stumble upon it while searching for something online. Today, it became the first of hopefully many new adventures for my family and me.

Building Character (Theirs and Mine)

Today, the Amazon Kindle store recommended to me a book called The Leader in Me: How Schools and Parents Around the World Are Inspiring Greatness, One Child at a Time by by Steven R. Covey. Always game to read something that will help me become a better teacher and a better parent, I bought it.

I have complained for so long that the problem with our educational system is not educational at all, but societal, that it has become habit. I still believe it, of course -- too many of America's children are raised with no boundaries and no responsibilities, so that this generation of school children has more than its fair share of coddled, enabled brats. But I've come to rely on this mantra a bit too heavily. I spout it without even thinking whenever someone mentions longer school days (or school years) or performance-based salaries for teachers.

Reading even just the first few pages of this book has made me remember something very important: Why I became a teacher. Being an athlete had made me a role model for others whether I wanted to be or not. As it turned out, I liked it, and I decided that I really wanted a career that served others. I wanted to be a hero, in my own way. I was in the process of sorting out how to become a firefighter when a teaching position fell into my lap. I loved it from the start.

I realize that I may be the only positive influence in a child's life. There have been times when this has made me feel a little bitter. Why should I have to be the one who teaches this kid right from wrong? Who encourages the kid to do his work and give his best effort? How can I be expected to do that without any support from his home?

What I need to remember is that, while this is a responsibility, to be certain, it is also an opportunity. Every child is capable of good character. Every child is capable of his best effort. Every child is capable of leadership in some way. And it is my privilege to help them realize that.

It's easy to blinded by behavior issues, unsupportive parents, and academic apathy, but I see the start of this school year as a gift. It's my chance to be a hero.

Social Ineptitude

My 20-year high school reunion is tonight. I'm not going.

I have this strange sort of ambivalence toward the reunion. It would be cool to see everybody, sure, but not $98 worth of cool. I went to my 10-year reunion, and left early feeling sort of awkward. It was like high school all over again -- all that stuff I didn't like about high school.

A few days ago, a high school friend with whom I've recently reunited sent me a message on Facebook to tell me that there would be a pre-reunion get-together at Whitey's Fish Camp on Friday night and that I should meet her there. Sounded fairly painless, so I went.

Whitey's is a pretty popular place by Clay County standards, and on Friday nights it's especially hoppin'. After being herded to a tiny parking space by a reflective-vest-clad attendant, I went into the packed restaurant in the hopes of recognizing people I haven't seen in 10 or 20 years. I spotted a couple possibilities (including someone who claimed he wasn't who I thought he was -- thanks, Robert, that made things SO much less awkward!), but no Christy, so I went back outside on the bench to wait.

Desperate phone call placed, Christy assured me she was on her way, and that I should go back inside and find a few other people who I'd apparently missed at the bar. I went back inside for a drink with a couple people I'd known reasonably well in high school, and let my social brilliance shine through: "Oh, hi, Mary! I almost failed Zoology because I didn't have the cojones to argue with the teacher that the reason I was looking toward your paper was not that I was copying your answers but because you were left-handed and we kept bumping elbows as we wrote. Good to see you!" Not something smoother like, "Mary! You know, I was thinking about you the other day while I was running down River Road and trying to remember which dock we fished from that time to collect specimens for the zoology class fishtank. Remember that? Oh, zany high school fun that I was actually a part of..."

Drinks in the air-conditioned bar moved to drinks on the sweltering outdoor patio, where it was virtually impossible to walk or even turn around without tackling someone into a table. I packed myself into a corner with a couple of other people I knew, clinging to them like a lifeline. A few more old friends came and went, people I'd been genuinely excited to see.




An inebriated classmate who had been in a much higher popularity echelon than I had been swore I looked familiar to her, and chatted with me for a while about how precious children are. Somehow I ended up at an outside table with a couple people, but when they decided to leave for a bit, I went back in and found myself lost, unable to locate any of the people I felt most comfortable with.

I'm a pretty shy person. I'm not the kind of person who throws parties or invites people to the house or out to dinner. I try not to impose myself needlessly on anyone else. I remember every stupid thing I've ever done or said, and I always assume everyone else does, too. I tend to take things personally. The smallest, unintentional slight can scare me away. I'm not good at showing people or telling people how I feel about them. (I can remember my husband saying once about a student of mine, "I don't think that boy will ever know how much you love him." He was probably right.) I downright suck at mingling.

So I left. I'm not too bummed about it. Big reunions just aren't who I am, and I'm cool with that. I'm going to set a goal, though, of getting together with one old friend a month -- or at least asking. Small groups. Baby steps.

Big Kid

TLB returned to day care today after being out for six weeks or so. He cried when I dropped him off and the staff of the day care hastened to shoo me away like one of those coddling helicopter moms, which I most assuredly am not. I get that he'll be fine once I'm gone, day care, but could I please have a goodbye kiss before I go? NO, GIMME YOUR KID, BYE NOW.

Anyway, things went fine, of course. I was informed as soon as I walked in the door that Alex had been very excited to see his old infant room teacher, Ms. Novie, who now works in the 1-year-old room in the afternoon.

My son is in the 1-year-old room. He plays with other toddlers, learns letters and colors, eats at the table, and sleeps on a nap mat on the floor. MY BABY.

All at once I'm both like, "No! He's still a baby!" and "Hellz yeah! Potty training next, please, and how about eating with utensils and some organized sports."

He's growing up, and really, I'm totally cool with that because the older he gets, the more fun he gets. He runs and climbs and talks and explores and absorbs things like a jumbo sponge. He's just so much awesome.

It's just that it reminds me that he's over a year old, which means I'm more than a year older than I was when he was born, which means I am quite solidly on my way to that point when I'll be 55 and he'll be graduating high school and people will think I'm his grandmother.

But for now I just have to worry about buying a blanket for his nap mat.

Prince of Naps

A year ago, I was fretting and reading and trying everything to get TLB to nap during the day. He's been a good nighttime sleeper from Day One, but until late July last year his napping left something to be desired.

Just when I'd gotten him on a decent nap schedule (after some sleep training for him and behavior modification for me), he started day care, which threw everything all out of whack again -- a different environment with different distractions. TLB adjusted, though. He's a trooper.

Toward the end of the school year, TLB was only taking one nap at day care. I was afraid this would stick, even though I was pretty sure he could use a morning and afternoon nap. Around the start of summer vacation he was teething like crazy, too, which didn't help at all. It disrupted his naps and night-time sleep as well. I thought I was in trouble.

I was wrong.

My son has become a napping machine. No matter what I have planned during the day, he'll be ready for naps at 9:30 am and 2 pm. No fighting, no fuss, no preparations necessary. He'll climb into my arms, put his head on my shoulder and stick his thumb in his mouth. "Put me in my bed and take a break, Mommy," he says -- or he would, anyway, if his vocabulary consisted of anything more than "Mama," "Dada," and "ball." He sleeps 1.5 to 2 hours per nap, which gives me plenty of time to pick up around the house (yeah, right!), check Facebook and watch World Cup Soccer. God bless my son for letting me watch the World Cup.

48 Hour Film Project

When TLB is napping, I pretty much live on Facebook. Yes, I know there are chores to be done, but I totally need to see what all my friends are up to RIGHT NOW, because I am absolutely incapable of picking up a phone and actually being in touch with people and having real, functioning relationships.

Anyway, over the weekend I received two separate invitations to one of the Jacksonville screenings of the 48 Hour Film Project. One was from a kid who was in my 8th grade technology class my first year teaching. The other was from a guy I know through the local community theater. To make a long story short, I had no plans that night, my husband would be working late, and my dad was available to watch TLB, so I figured I'd go.

(Notes to self:

1) Next time, don't buy tickets online. It's not like it's going to sell out, so it's not worth buying in advance and paying double your ticket price in online fees.

2) Next time, bring a friend. It would be more interesting having someone to talk to before the screening and at intermission, and it would be a lot safer having someone to walk back to the parking garage with at 10 pm. )

The 48 Hour Film Project itself is a really cool idea. At the kick-off event, which is held on a Friday night at 7 pm, each team is assigned a genre, and all teams are given a list of components that must be included in the film (this year they were: a character named Tony or Tina Daubert, who is a wine connoisseur; a line of dialogue - "I love a good challenge"; and use of a lamp as a prop). The teams then have 48 hours to complete their films (the only work that can be done in advance is essentially assembling the team and procuring the equipment), which they must turn in by 7:30 pm on Sunday.

So yeah, in theory, this is a really cool idea. But remember those video projects people did in high school? You'll be seeing a lot of this all over again. Some of the films weren't that bad. Some were actually edited well. In some of them, the sound didn't completely suck. Some even had legitimate actors. But for the most part, when a film would start, 30 seconds in I'd be waiting for it to turn into porn.

DISCLAIMER: I am, by no means, an authority on porn, but come on. Admit it. You know exactly what I'm talking about. The bad sound. The thin plot. The horrible acting. All some of these films needed were a bed and the "Lay That Pipe" soundtrack music.

As people entered the Florida Theater, they were given ballots to select the "audience favorite" film. Everybody was require to vote for THREE films -- so people could vote for their own films and then two others that they actually liked. At first, I started to automatically check off the two films I'd actually been invited there to view, but then the critic in me convinced me to actually watch the films and select my REAL favorites.

One of the films I chose was a musical. Anybody who knows me is thinking right now "Well, DUH!" but seriously. They had to make a MUSICAL. With music and lyrics and stuff. And it wasn't painful at all, fairly clever and somewhat compelling.

Another film I chose was a comedy. Oh, many of the films were comedic in one way or another (whether or not they were intended to be), but this one was actually in the comedy genre and I enjoyed it. Admittedly, I think "comedy" is probably one of the easiest genres to do, but the director chose a format really suited to the actors and it played out well. The only line that really sounded scripted was the obligatory "I love a good challenge."

The third film I chose WAS actually one of the ones I was invited to see, but I'm not going to say which one. It doesn't really matter, because I left in such a hurry so I could beat the traffic out of the parking garage (ha ha, joke's on me!) that I forgot to turn in my ballot. Sorry guys.

Vacation Observations

1. Until I become a mindreader, I will have to just accept the fact that sometimes toddlers just fuss.

2. It is better to sit in front of or behind people who look like grandparents on the plane and bus. Grandparents are far more accepting of my toddler's behavior than younger businessmen.

3. One sippy cup is not enough.

4. A well-rested toddler is happier travelling companion than a tired one. Don't expect him to sleep on the plane. He won't.

5. Hotel suite with 2 bedrooms, a living area and a kitchen is the best idea ever. Hotel that offers free hot breakfast in the lobby is the second best idea ever.

6. Hide-and-seek is just as fun in a hotel suite as it is at home.

7. So is bathtime.

8. If there are steps, he will attempt to climb them.

9. If there is a dance floor, he will be on it, even if he doesn't know how to dance.

10. A toddler will not enjoy touring lighthouses as much as I will (neither will my husband, for that matter, but he'll at least humor me), but he'll sure look cute in the pictures.

Tubes

So after pretty much near-constant ear infections since November, TLB had ear tube surgery this morning. In some ways, it was a very simple procedure. In other ways, it was quite an ordeal.

Our scheduled surgery time was 9:50 am -- which was horrifying to me when the surgery center called me and told me that, because I knew that TLB would not have eaten since his bedtime the night before, and was therefore likely to be cranky shortly after waking up. We had to be at the surgery center to check in by 7:45 am, which meant more than two hours of wait time once we got there.

I had read that they scheduled the surgeries by age, so I was shocked that they were starting so late, since I was sure that TLB, at his age, would surely be first. We checked in at the front desk and where led to the children's waiting room, where three other boys -- all younger than mine -- were crawling around playing with the toys. Another mystery solved.

In short order we were taken to our room, where we met the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, and were given TLB's spiffy hospital gown. Baby hospital gowns? Hilarous.

There were plenty of toys and lots going on to distract TLB from his hunger... for a little while. At one point, one of the other toddlers beaned TLB in the head and knocked him flat on his Pamper. I maintain that it's funny when someone gets hit in the head with a ball. Even when it's my kid.


We made it until nearly 9 am, at which point there was a meltdown from which no amount of rocking, carrying or cajoling could save me.

Eventually (mercifully) the surgeon found us in the hallway and told us we were next. At 9:54 am, TLB was taken from my arms by a nurse and back to the OR. At 10:18 am, the surgeon came in to tell me how things had gone. Minutes later, TLB was back in my arms, heartily chugging a sippy cup full of apple juice (his second since waking up). The nurse warned me that he might be grumpy, and that he would need a long nap to sleep off the effects of the anesthesia. She was wrong about the grumpiness -- he ate a banana and chatted happily the rest of the way home. She was right about the nap, though -- THREE AND A HALF HOURS.

He earned that nap. So did I.

Cheesy Tots!

I'm sure it was just God's way of telling me to lay off the fried, cheesy foods, but boy oh boy, there are few things that irk me more than a snarky teen who's sure she's right when she isn't.

BK Chickie: Welcome to Burger King. Can I take your order?

Me: I'd like a 12-piece cheesy tots, and...

BK Chickie: Uh, yeah. Cheesy tots have been discontinued... for, like, a long time, now.

Me: Oh. Okay. They're on your board. So I guess I'll have...

BK Chickie: No. We have funnel cakes up there now.

Me: Um. Alright. But you have cheesy tots on your board, too.

BK Chickie: I'll have my manager check that.

Me: Cool. So, I guess I'll have a cheeseburger and a bottled water.

BK Chickie: We don't have bottled water right now.

Me: Oh. Okay. I guess I'll have... an orange Fanta and a cheeseburger.

BK Chickie: An orange juice and...

Me: No, no, a Fanta orange soda.

BK Chickie: We have Fanta Strawberry.

Me: Do you have Sprite?

BK Chickie: Yes.

Me: I'll have that. Small.

So I pull around, pay the girl, and as she gives me my food she informs me, "I don't know what you think you saw on the board, but my co-worker just checked and there aren't any cheesy tots up there."

What I wanted to say: Well, I'd tell you your co-worker's making you look like a fool, but I think you're doing fine all on your own.

Or: Then one of us is delusional. Maybe she should double-check, just to be sure.

Or: "Have a nice day" or "Sorry we didn't have half the stuff you ordered" would have been better.

What I DID say was, "Okay, if you say so," and drove off with the cheeseburger I didn't really want in the first place.

If I hadn't been in a hurry to get to my martial arts class, I would have gone in and spoken to the manager. After cooling down, I decided to just blog about it instead.

For the record:

Orange Fanta was on the board, too.

Summertime!

I think I look forward to the end of school and the start of summer even more now than I did when I was a little kid. Oh, sure, when I was a student I always looked forward to summer vacation, when I could play with my friends and swim in the pool all day long, never put on shoes, and stay out until the streetlights came on. But by the end of vacation, I was always kind of ready to go back.

When I became a teacher, I developed the same antsy, drooly summer-lust I had as a kid -- and appreciated the vacation all that much more, because really, it's awfully short. Soon enough, I'd be back to work, teaching everyone else's kids, and don't get me wrong, I LOVE my job, but there's always that one kid (or two, or five, or that whole class) that makes you think maybe collecting garbage might have been a better career choice.

This year, I've been awaiting summer more eagerly than ever before, because it's been TEN MONTHS since I've had TLB all to myself. I know parents joke about dreading summer vacation and loving the start of school, and when TLB is school age I'll probably make the same jokes, but he's at the age right now where everything he does is nothing short of awesome, and now that I'm out of school, there are so many things we can do together.

We can go for longer walks. We can go for more bike rides. We can go to the beach. We can visit a different park every day, and figure out which one we like best. We can meet Daddy for lunch, and I can order TLB something off the menu instead of having to pack bottles and jars of food. We can play music and dance in the play room. We can go to story time at the library. We can go to the zoo, and the Alligator Farm, and Silver Springs. There are endless possibilities.

I've had some pretty good summers, but I think this is going to be the best one yet.

Progress

Couldn't sleep at 4 am today, so I got up and got busy.

Doubled my running distance today. It was farther than I'd intended to run, but I felt like I could do it, so I did.

Years ago, 1.2 miles is a distance I would have scoffed at, but this morning it felt like a major accomplishment. I ran the whole distance without even thinking about quitting. I hardly limped at all, and I wasn't even wearing my brace. I probably could have gone farther, but I'll save that for next week.

I logged a total of 3.6 miles before 5:30 am -- .6 warmup, 1.2 run, .6 cool down, and 1.2 walking the dog (if I can double my distance, she can, too).

I am reminded that RUNNING STINKS. No, literally. But I've missed that stinkypants smell.

Zombie Plan

I ran tonight. Twice as far as last night, which really isn't saying that much, but still, it's TWICE AS FAR. And really, running any distance is a huge accomplishment for my ginormous butt.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I can do this.

I guess I should backtrack a little. It all began when I went to see "Zombieland" with Philip and Roland. I always felt like I had a pretty good chance of surviving a zombie apocalypse. But that was BEFORE. Before the destroyed ankle, before the reconstructed ACL, before the pregnancy.

The #1 rule for surviving a zombie apocalypse is CARDIO. And frankly, after a few years of injury and consequent inactivity, my cardio is crap. So I revamped my Zombie Plan, and set some goals.

When I was training for the 2000 Olympic trials, I used to run about 25 miles a week. It was a nice, comfortable mileage that was merely a supplement to my taekwondo training. For kicks I ran some road races, including the Gate River Run. I'd always wanted to run a marathon, but was advised against it by a doctor and more seasoned runner who said it would affect my kicking speed.

As I'm no longer competing in taekwondo, a marathon seemed like a fun goal. A half marathon seemed like a more plausible one. So in January, I registered for the 2011 Disney Half-Marathon.

The announcer at the Gate River Run this year said you can train for a half-marathon in six months. I figured I'd need it. It's been two years since I tore my ACL, and the strength of my left leg is still considerably less than that of my right. My "running" is really more of a hobble. Not wanting to re-injure my knee, I've been putting off running. And putting it off... and putting it off...

My friend Carolyn, a runner who had ACL surgery shortly after mine, has kept after me ever since I made this commitment. I need to just do it, she'd tell me. Running is the only thing that's going to build strength in my knee. Easy enough for her to say, since she was already in fantastic shape when she injured her knee, and she weighs, like, half of what I weigh. But still... she's right.

So last night I ran. It wasn't very far, and it was pretty pathetic, but it was a legitimate jog.

Tonight, I wore my brace and doubled my distance. And you know what? It wasn't too bad.

I will (once again) be revamping my workout schedule, and increasing my distance weekly.

I can do this.

Alex Stats - Age 1

TLB is a year old. The birthday(s) lingered for a few days, with our official (albeit low-key) celebration being held on Sunday, when my parents treated TLB's Godparents Uncle Phil and Auntie Liz, our good friend Uncle Roland, and us to lunch at Applebees (TLB loves Applebees). Phil and Liz brought cake, and TLB, while not especially interested in eating it, proceeded to decorate himself and the table with multicolored frosting.

I still can't believe it's been a year since our son came into our lives. So much has changed since those first few days in the hospital and on the bili-bed at home. Now he's a walking (sort of), talking (sort of) toddler.

Here are TLB's present stats:

Age: One year, five days

Height: 30+ inches

Weight: 25.5 pounds

Clothing size: 18m - 2T

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Hazel

Favorite food: Bananas, hands down. He recently became a fan of mini pancakes, however.

Favorite character: Mickey Mouse

Favorite song: "Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes" and the song that his Tonka trucks play.

Favorite activity: Throwing things (himself included) on the floor, rides in the stroller and on the bike seat.

Favorite book: Goodnight Moon

Words: Lots.

Intelligible words: Mama, Dada, Bye-bye, Hi.

Teeth: 8. Molars are lurking beneath the surface, though. I know you're there, molars.

Steps: A few. He still finds crawling easier and faster at this point.

Minutes needed to completely dismantle the play room: 4.5

Breakfast is the Most Important Meal of the Day

Last week, I finally got the front-mounted bike seat that I have wanted since I found out I was pregnant. It's an iBert safe-T-seat. It's the most hideous shade of green and orange, but apart from that it's perfect.

Today, TLB and I took our first ride. We'd walked that morning (sort of) with Dad, but I only walked two miles instead of three because I knew I was going to take a bike ride later. After a quick jaunt to Starbucks, we donned our helmets, I threw my keys and my Blackberry in a little backpack, and we ventured out.

By the time we got to the entrance to the neighborhood, I knew I'd struck gold. TLB was having the time of his life! He was laughing and looking at everything, patting my arms and smiling up at me -- it was the perfect mother/son moment!

"Go down the hill, Mommy!" I knew he was saying. "Let's go fast!" So down the hill we went -- the same hill I rode my bike down every day to elementary school. We went so fast! TLB laughed even more!

Out onto Kinglsey we went to try out the bike lane. I've always wanted to ride in the bike lane. As we passed in front of an ambulance on a side street, I thought to myself, "Well, if I were to get hit by a car, I guess I'd want it to be an ambulance." <-- FORESHADOWING

We were about halfway back on Doctors Lake Drive when I started to think maybe I'd bitten off more than I could chew. But I used to run this all the time, the eager part of my brain cried. That was ten years and a zillion pounds ago, the rational part of my brain informed me. Stupid rational brain.

I was already planning my Facebook status upon my return: "-Went for bike ride with TLB. He had a blast. I nearly had a heart attack." The further I went, the more I thought this might be true. But I can downshift, I told myself. Sure, you don't go as fast, but you don't have to pedal as hard!

To make a long story short (too late!), I was soon walking. I was short of breath. My chest hurt. I was feeling very much like an idiot. I was pretty sure I wasn't dying, but I wasn't positive. I was incredibly fatigued. The sun started to look very bright and it hurt my eyes. I realized that I was not going to make it home on my own.

Acknowledging I was a big fat 'tard, I pulled my phone from my backpack. I could call Philip, but he was 30-40 minutes away. My dad was even farther. I was struggling to breathe, let alone push the bike. If I collapsed, TLB would fall. This was my primary concern, followed by the fact that a cardiac episode would really ruin my spring break. Reluctantly, I dialed 911.

The dispatcher for the sheriff's office quickly transferred me to the fire/rescue dispatcher. I calmly told him my location and condition, and that I had my 11-month-old son with me. He told me to get in a comfortable position and have my son flag down the rescue vehicle when it arrived. I assured him that while my son is quite advanced for his age, he could not flag down the truck (though he might wave at it). I told them to look for the hideous green bike seat.

The EMTs arrived in short order and confirmed (as I suspected all along) that I was not dying, but that I simply "overdid it a bit." They reassured me that I was not a moron and that I'd done the right thing, but told me next time I should ride a little closer to home until I was more certain of my capabilities. I recalled the day when I was about 8 years old and my mom and I biked to Burger King for breakfast. It wasn't that far of a ride, really, but I simply cannot function without breakfast. I barely made it.

I was perfectly aware of my capabilities. I had just ignored them.

The EMTs asked if I thought I needed to go to the hospital, but I told them that apart from being stupid, I was probably okay. I told them I'd called my husband and he was on his way, but he was coming from the Southside and it could take awhile. They kindly offered to drive me home (or rather, asked my son, "Want to ride in the firetruck, buddy?").

We arrived at my house with my bike strapped to the top of the firetruck, green iBert safe-T-seat displayed proudly for all to see. They deposited my bike, my son and me in my driveway, advised me to take it easy, and drove away -- with my backpack and house keys still in the cab of the truck.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in my house, safe and sound. The hubby arrived and fed TLB his lunch, and I collapsed into my recliner with a tumbler of ice water to try to pull it together.

Moral of the story: BREAKFAST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY.

Baby Athletics

My son is going to be an athlete. I'm not really giving him much of a choice.

Okay, seriously, I'm not that demanding of a parent, but my husband and I both believe that sports and competition are important. Our son will participate in at least one individual and one team sport. For how long? We'll see how that goes, I guess. I'm thinking at least until high school. Which sports will be up to him, of course. I'm hoping for taekwondo and soccer, naturally, but it will be his choice.

Being the spazzy noob mom that I am, I'm already looking for ways to hone my son's athletic skills. I suppose it's a stroke of good luck that his current favorite toy is a ball. That little guy can throw!

A couple weeks ago, we tried out the "Birds" class at The Little Gym. It was cute, and TLB seemed to enjoy himself, but it wasn't quite what I was looking for. It left me wishing I could have access to all that equipment without the class, the singing and clapping, the yuppy parents, and the other toddlers hitting my kid (Hey, Lulubell's Mom: When your daughter hits another child, she should, at the very least, hear the word "No" from you). On the other hand, that sort of environment is probably good for me, to temper my competitiveness and focus on what my son enjoys instead of what I want him to get out of the class.

Still, I think TLB could have used a little more time on the beam...

At any rate, with TLB's Mad Walking Skillz still in development, there's time to figure out how to approach the athletics thing. "Don't rush him," people tell me. "You'll miss these moments. You'll wish he would have stayed a baby longer." Yeah, yeah. Don't get me wrong, the stuff he does right now is cute and all, but each new thing he does is EXPONENTIALLY COOLER. Soon, he'll be walking. And after that, he'll be running. And when his balance is good enough: KICKING.

Last Saturday was the Gate River Run. Between my knee, my back and my overall Jabba-the-Huttness (and the effect of each on the others), I was in no condition to run. I miss running. I'm trying to get back into it, but it's a slow, slow process. As I was wistfully looking over the event webpage, however, something caught my eye. DIAPER DASH! There was a River Run for BABIES. If that isn't awesome, I don't know what is.

Saturday morning, we were at the Jacksonville Fairgrounds. Admittedly, TLB hadn't done much training for the event, but he's a good crawler and I felt he'd be competitive in the U12(months) division. I had a strategy: I would lure him to the finish line with his favorite beach ball. TLB had a different strategy: He'd play in the dirt. Okay, so it wasn't REALLY a race, or even a "dash," but all the babies and parents had fun, and TLB got a t-shirt and a medal and I got to feel like he'd accomplished something.

Next year, though, those toddlers had better watch out! TLB will be a 23-monther in the 13-24 month division, and we have a year to train!

First Words

I always imagined that my baby's first words would be a profound and recognizable moment. He would look at me, arms outstretched, and say very clearly, "Mama."

Truth be told, TLB has been saying "mama" for quite some time now -- or rather, he's been saying the "ma" syllable in repetition, as well as "da" and "ba." So what he has been saying to me is not "Mama," but "ma ma ma ba ba da"... which makes no sense whatsoever. I know he's saying stuff. I just have no clue what it is.

This being said, it's very possible that he has been saying words to me for some time, and I, with my ridiculously high expectations of this child, simply have not noticed. This occurred to me the other morning when, as I was bundling TLB off to the car, I said, "Bye-bye, Daddy." We (and by "we" I really mean "I") always say bye-bye to Daddy in the mornings, just like we say hi and bye to the baby in the mirror at bathtime. This particular morning, however, TLB waved to his father and said "bah bah." My husband and I were stunned. The kid actually said bye to him! We were such proud parents!

A moment later, he waved again and said "Hi." This skill obviously needs some fine tuning.

Thinking back, there has been the occasional, random "ma ma" or "da da" that might actually have been words, but as I said, they are not what I imagined. I think I may need to lower my expectations for this poor kid, or he'll surely be huffing by the time he's seven.

Mommy Horror Humor

I read a few mommy blogs (and even a daddy blog), and basically what I've learned is this: In order to produce an entertaining, funny blog, you need to have kids who do stuff that drives you to the point of near-insanity. Like All & Sundry's author whose toddler won't sleep through the night and stuffs dog hair in his mouth when he's angry.

I don't have stuff like that to write about. Well, okay, there's the fact that he'll say "da da da" all day long, but anytime anybody asks him to say "ma ma" he blows razzberries instead. Or there's the time I forgot to close his closet door and he could reach it from the crib and played with it noisily for a few minutes in the middle of the night before going back to sleep on his own. Or the time he woke up because his pajamas, sheet and blanket were soaked due to an inadequately fastened diaper, but once he was changed and dry went RIGHT BACK TO SLEEP (there's a trend here).

I guess I could write about the bicycle and bike seat I got for Christmas and have only used once due to Alex's wardrobe being ill-equipped for this freakish cold spell we're having, but that's Mother Nature's fault and not Alex's. Or maybe it's my fault because of my refusal to shell out the dough for cold-weather clothes when it'll be warm again in a week or two and by the time it's cold enough again to wear it he'll be, like, five sizes bigger. I'll just wait a couple weeks to ride the bike.

I don't have horror stories. I don't wish I did. I have a happy, tame baby and a boring blog. Somehow, I'll cope.