Monday, February 09, 2009

Gasp! Wheeze! Where's your pants??

70 degree days in February are pretty awesome. Mondays are pretty awesome. (Preschool day) Fat free chocolate ice cream with brownie chunks is pretty awesome as well. Do you have any sense where I am going? Because I do not. I think I'll start over.

I have now commenced bribing Piglet to nap in his bed. Since his molars started trying to break his face, he has stopped napping well. If he naps, it is in his "cave", the weird little room off of his room with a baby gate on the door and a sleeping bag inside. Starting today, he gets a sticker if he naps in his bed. If he gets three stickers, he gets a prize. He was super-excited about stickers and presents and repeated the whole deal back to me. Did he nap in his bed? Yeah, no. Of course not. So, we'll try again tomorrow.

After his cave nap, we decided to go to the park. I was all ready to drive down there and he announced that he was going to ride his tricycle. This would mean that I would have to carry Pigpen in the Bjorn to be at the ready for Piglet leaping off of his bike and running into the street. I can't walk up the hills in my neighborhood with the Bjorn because when going up a hill, my thighs push his feet and he bounces up to my chin. Very uncomfortable for all.

I compromised with Piglet on the double stroller. How did this happen? How did I get engaged in a debate, discussion and compromise with a two year old? I debated this as I pushed my 40 pound double stroller filled with my 30 pound toddler and my 15 pound baby up the mountain to the park. My lungs burned. My thighs were on fire. Piglet turned around to see what the wheezing sound was. It was bad. Very bad. He wanted to go faster, it seemed.

After a fun time at the park, I had to repeat the performance to get back home. When I say mountains, I'm really not exaggerating. This neighborhood has some serious crazy steep hills. My Texas born car gasps and struggles to get out of our street. I had visions of a wild runaway stroller filled with babies if my sweaty hands released the death trap onto the mountain.

I paused to talk to anyone who would talk to me just to catch my breath. You meet a lot of people that way. Including my neighbor who doesn't wear pants. I've met him a couple of times now and both times, he was wearing his collared work shirt.....and his boxers. His unkies. Right there in the street! He was getting the mail. It is rumored that he also has a urinal in his basement, so perhaps he's just a man's man. A guy's guy. A slob? I don't know. Put on your pants!!

This day probably sounds tremendously boring to those reading, but when there's not much else going on in my world, the neighborhood entertainment must suffice. I'll try to perk things up tomorrow. Perhaps I'll engage you with tales of my menu planning and coupon clipping. Hold on to your hats!

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