This may come as a shock but if you throw your back and out and can't sit for a week, it makes typing awful damn tricky.
But now that I'm in physical therapy, I'm ready to rock and roll! (Or sit and stare, as the case may be.) Lucky for me I'm ramped on half-price Halloween candy (you know the economy's bad when they put the candy on sale before the holiday) and trying very hard to remember that eating my weight in Kit Kats is a Don't. I can't wait for Halloween! Since the boy's favorite word is "bee" his costume was a no-brainer. He's been breaking it in for the last few weeks, parading about with his chubby legs and Look At Me grin. The hat's a little small (more like a yarmulke with antennae) but that don't stop the cute. Rumor has it the guy who plays Alan on Sesame Street (he's the new Mr. Hooper, for those sans pre-Ks) lives in our building so we'll be making a pilgrimage to his place come Halloween as soon as I stalk out his apartment number.
Let me tell you, the kids make out good in this building. 46 floors, 15 apartments on each floor. And that's just one building! Even if only half the people offer candy, that's a lot of loot. This time of year always makes me crave a house. My happiest memories are of running from house to house, seeing the kids up ahead, finding out who gave pennies (or - gasp! - FULL SIZED BARS). Now kids just go to the mall, I guess. Do your kids still go house to house? Anybody collecting for UNICEF? (I totally thought about doing that this year. It's not like Owen will be eating the candy anyway.)
In other news, I'm learning that soon-to-be-2-year-olds cry a lot. Seems like everything makes Owen fritz these days. Pancakes aren't ready fast enough, the world ends. Toy car won't roll in the right direction? Smack it, then cry. Crayon isn't the right color? Wail, bang on table, then toss it. He's not tantruming exactly, but there's a definite shift. And why is it suddenly so hard to diaper this kid? I know the diaper-while-standing trick but I've always found it difficult at best (and if there's a poop, neigh on impossible). Anybody else's kid start refusing the changing table? Any good solutions? Because I am going to sell this kid to the gypsies if he doesn't stop kicking. (I've babysat kids who actually aimed for my face. Needless to say, it did not end pretty.)
Tears aside, he's still a ball of sunshine. He's talking up a storm and managing to put together some pretty great sentences, mostly having to do with things he deems awesome. ("See dat cool car?", "Eat pancake! Mmm!") But he still can't pronounce his H's so I get to pretend that I have a French baby for a little while longer. ("Daddy 'ave a 'at!") Is it wrong to hope that he never learns the correct way to say "bubbles"?