Not Fun, and Scary to Boot

Friday morning was errand-filled, as many Fridays are. Had a Dr. appointment in the morning, then I needed to get the car's oil changed. Couldn't easily find daycare, so the Little Man was along for the ride.

The Little Man has been displaying his rapidly developing personality by having a very, VERY strong opinion about most things lately. Naturally, the opinion of hanging in the waiting room at the Dr.'s office and in the office itself was a resounding "Forget This!" No amount of cleverly packed snacks or toys could appease him, and I ended up with "that" kid in the waiting room (you know, the one who throws multiple tantrums as the old ladies look down their noses) and having to ask the Dr. to repeat herself several times in our appointment. Not fun. So not fun.

After promising myself to try much harder to find daycare for any future appointments, we got to the car and I noticed that the low gas light was on. I remembered that it had gone on after work the day before, so I thought I'd better fill up at the nearby station. When I drove into the Shell station, though, I saw that the price was $.12 - Twelve Cents! - higher than I had seen elsewhere in town. I was headed in the direction of the cheaper gas anyway, and my car had only dinged the "hey, I'm getting low on gas" and not the "look, I'm really, REALLY running low here" ding, I drove by the expensive pumps intending to fill up elsewhere and headed toward the highway.

Naturally, I ran out of gas. After 15 years of fine-tuning, my fill-up tactics of filling up at the last second, but never too late, had failed me. Also, my trusty car had failed to deliver the special ding to let me know it really, Really was time. I was robbed.

And scared. It's a terrible sound to run out of gas - first the loss of acceleration, then the last gasping sounds of a good car fighting the good fight and losing. And the place where my car coughed its last gasp was, naturally, in a busy intersection. Busy as in 4 lanes of traffic, right before the entrance to a highway. I managed to limp my wheezing car into the right-hand turn lane so cars could still get around, but it turns out I should have blocked the lane because I got tired of counting the semis that passed mere inches from my car. In addition to the traffic, it was in the high 8o's and it got toasty in the car fast.

I swallowed my pride and called Mr. Me. He was working from home and had an appointment himself 30 minutes after I called, but he promised to come to our rescue with a gas can as soon as he finished a work call. I then wracked my brain and called four or five other friends that lived or might have occasion to be in the area, but no dice. As I sat there in my hot, hot car with the sound of traffic and the sound of my babbling (thankfully, not screaming) child in my ears, I looked around to see if there was any hope of taking the baby and walking somewhere without getting squashed flat (none!). The only sign of gas I could see, off in the distance across the highway, was for that damn Shell station with its expensive gas. It was peeking up through the trees, mocking me. Sigh.

After an hour - AN HOUR - of sitting by the side of the road, exactly 5 people (including one cop) had stopped to check with us, which was a rather higher percentage of good Samaritans than I had expected. What with work, obtaining gas, and my substandard directions, Mr. Me arrived 5 minutes after my mom who had come from another town (she was headed in my direction anyway). I haven't been so happy to see my mommy since my dad forgot me at piano lessons when I was 10. The Little Man (now naked after drenching himself with his drink) and I went to sit in her nice, cool car while we waited for life-saving gas.

Can I just say that I've been successfully converted to a quarter-tank filler?

Namely Confused

Family lore has it that when he was four, someone asked my cousin what his name was and his reply was "Danny Dammit." Knowing my cousin, and his father's likely response to his very busy personality, this isn't such a big surprise. It does make me wonder, however, what the Little Man's response will be to the same question once he gets a little older. Not with the "Dammit" so much, but we (and the rest of his family) have so many little pet names for the guy that I wonder how many times he hears his actual name in a given day.

He earned his first nickname of Little Bird in the hospital because of his "Hey, I'm ready to eat" look. That expanded to (Given Name)-Bird. And Baby Bird, and Big Bird (because naturally, he's getting bigger). Then there's Bub (why? don't ask me, ask his dad). And Bubba-Boo, Bub-bub, Bubs and Bubby. Then the actual perversions of his given name, like adding "y" and "man" to it, or going with the shortened version. Not to mention pairing his given name with "Charles" "Bart" and "David", none of which appear on his birth certificate. And of course Baby Boy and Big Boy. Recently, with his assertion of independent will, "Kid" has made an appearance more often as well.

Only 17 months, and so many names. If we can come up with all these, and we're just his lame family, I can't wait to see what his buddies print on the back of his shirt in high school.

All Boy

The Little Man has started showing his colors as a true Little "Man". No longer the sweet little baby, he has for weeks been showing the signs that yes, he really is a boy. Cases in point:

• He L-O-V-E-S to drive. He sits on his grandfather's lap and drives the boat at the lake, insistent upon honking the horn constantly and that NO other hands are on the wheel but his. He'll stand behind the wheel in a parked car for an entire hour abusing the steering wheel, flipping levers, pushing buttons, and, of course, saying "di-di-di-di-di-di-di-di-" (which seems to indicate that he's got only a 2-cycle motor under the hood, which is fine by me!)He drives his little cars in the house. He drives his trike outside of the house. He drives plates. And collanders. And frisbees. And the wheels on the dishwasher baskets. And the little round steel plate that sits behind the bathtub faucet (that doesn't even move!). He loves to DRIVE!


• In the same vein, he loves cars in general. He'll spend 20 minutes at the park on the playground equipment, and 30 minutes in the parking lots, trying to open car doors and touching the wheels.


• He completely dances like a white boy. Legs bending in deep bends off time to the music, feet never moving, arms flailing wildly. Love him, but we're going to have to seriously work the education in this department.


• Lately, he hates to take a bath. Why, I cannot yet determine, but I'm going to go with the obvious - that he just doesn't care about being the smelly kid in daycare.


• He's started to identify body parts; sometimes he'll point to the part asked about, sometimes asking "'Sdat?" when he points. Guess what he asks about most often?

But the kicker, the proof of all proofs, happened this morning. The Little Man was hanging out in bed with Mommy & Daddy after topping off his morning bottle of milk. He flipped over, crawled over to give Mommy a kiss, and burped. Mommy made an "Ewww" face, which he thought was hysterically funny. So he came a little closer, and burped again. Another "Ewwww" face, and more giggles. Then he tried to make himself burp, because, you know, burping is SO. COOL. And he threw up All Over His Mommy. And that, to this BOY, was funnier than all the rest combined.

The Times, They've Already Changed

Oh, it was fabulous. A Be-A-Utiful weekend. First, wonderful, wonderful Harry. This book ranks as one of my favorites. I was slightly non-plussed on the first reading of Harry Potter 5 (the Order of the Phoenix) but this one was fantastic. The only problem is, I can't wait for the 7th now!

Secondly, as I was waiting on my book to arrive Saturday I decided to stop wasting my day and went to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with a girlfriend. It was good, though I never can get all that enthusiastic about Tim Burton movies. He's just a little too, well, Tim Burton for me. It was lovely to see my girlfriend, though, and to actually BE able to go see a movie and not worry about a sitter or anything.

Then, after a few hours of blissful reading, I went out to see my brother play at a local bar. He's been playing coffee shops and clubs for a couple of months - accoustic stuff with his buddy, and he's pretty good. He's played guitar forever - the one who ended up with my mom's musical talent - and he's decided to start playing publicly. It was fun to sit back and listen to good tunes, chat with their groupies (my sister-in-law & her friends) and sip a margarita. Ahhhhh.

Sunday was lovely and lazy - got up at 10 (TEN!), finished up Harry, and straightened up the house a little while I watched some forgettable movie. Then Mr. Me & the Little Man came home and took me to dinner. Perfect end to a perfect weekend.

It amazes me that I'm writing like this is such a big deal. This type of weekend used to be fairly common. And then, the Little Man. I love my Little Man, but man, did he mix things up! It's amazing the things I look forward to now (Dooce says it best). Hopefully Mr. Me gives me another one of these lovely weekends to look forward to sometime soon!

Takes One to Know One

I am sitting in my living room waiting with bated breath for the UPS fairy to deliver Harry Potter 6. This is SO EXCITING! It's 7:00 in the morning and I have already checked my shipment from Amazon, and have already cursed UPS because Amazon told them my book was ready to be picked up at 5:00 AM and it's not been picked up yet. Lazy bastards!

This is a very special weekend. I arranged with Mr. Me a month ago to have this weekend off of all duty and responsibility because I must sit and read! Until it is all done! All 5 inches of book in smallish type and single spaced! I must know what happens. So Mr. Me will be packing up the Little Man and hitting the road the minute - The Minute! - that UPS comes to our door. They shall go to the land of Grandma and Grandpa and I will be left in peace to bury myself in a book. Which is my definition of a perfect, wonderful weekend.

Yeah, I realize that Mr. Me is married to a geek too. And I don't care!

Snippits

The Little Man is growing in leaps and bounds it seems. He's really started to crack me up. Some of my favorite moments . . .

• I learned that he is starting to pay attention to body-part labels when my cousin walked in during bathtime and said something about him having his daddy's ears - and he pointed to it! So far we're good with ear and belly, and sometimes nose and mouth. He normally stick his finger UP his nose to point it out, but that counts in my book.


• I was trying to sleep in one Sunday morning on my dedicated morning off of childcare, but I about rolled out of bed laughing when I heard the Little Man thundering down the hallway with his father in hot pursuit yelling "Put . . . the pizza. . . down" in Gene Wilder style from Young Frankenstein (except he was talking about a candle)


• The Little Man vocabulary is growing, but limited. I'm hoping it's this - and not pig-headed stubbornness - that makes him think everything is a ball. Moon, wheels, anything remotely circular is christened a ball, and he'll argue with you until he's blue in the face defending his point.


• My Little Man has decided he is Trader Vic. I have no idea where he got this concept, but if you have something he wants, he'll go get another item that he thinks you might want and see if you'll trade him. If you have the toothpaste tube (that you've taken away from him for the 108th time), he naturally wants it back and so will go get your keys off the table, bring it in and see if you'll give up the tube for the keys. In his concept of trading, this works with food too. If you have sausage - his favorite - on your plate, you can rest assured that if he's in arms length you'll soon see a grimy piece of potatoes/egg/grapes on your plate and the sausage will be gone, gone, gone.

This child has more personality in his little finger than any one person is rightfully allowed. Man, do I hope I'm ready for him.

Geeks Anonymous

Oh dearie dear, how I have not posted in the while. I have had several posts written in my little noggin, but I'm currently sharing the laptop with the wireless connection with Mr. Me and it has been Questing night after night after night. So, no posting for you.

Yes, I am married to a geek. A true blue, tech absorbed, game playin', Cheetoe munchin' geek. So much of a geek that my cousin got me a t-shirt that says 'I *heart* my geek' on it for Christmas - and I wear it in public. Why deny the painfully obvious, eh?

When I came home from work the other night he was the most excited I had seen him in quite some time. I asked him what his deal was, and he said "I'm growing potatoes". Now, you must understand that as far as the both of us are concerned, gardening and outdoor work in general is for the birds. We manage to keep the yard mowed (more often when the neighbor boy stops by and offers to do it for us) but that's about the size of our outdoor effort unless something is an obviously falling apart or might get us turned into the city.

So, you might understand why the growing potatoes thing did not compute. Until he informed me that he's now allowed to farm online in the game he plays. "I've got 19 potatoes so far - they're all in little bags ready to sell. Isn't that cool?" Gardening is all good - even exciting! - when done electronically.

And I'm so very sure this won't be the last time I shake my head in disbelief at my husband.