We might be homeschooling

I tried taking Christopher to a class at the Community Center again today. After the Funfit debacle - he made it through just one class without running out, screaming - I had vowed never to go back. But this was an open class for people who were thinking of enrolling in the winter, and his friend Anna would be there, so I figured I would try it. Despite the fact that he is exhausted, still having not caught up on his sleep after the wedding.
It may have been a mistake. The class was about sports, and they were doing football today. Christopher did fine until about 20 minutes into the class, when he abruptly stopped throwing the football, curled up on the floor and refused to get up.
We ended up leaving early - I am trying to recover from a stomach bug, and not in the mood to convince a squirming toddler to throw things. And it wasn't early enough. He threw a major tantrum on the way out.
So, homeschooling tips would be much appreciated.

I'm training a ringer!

I have gotten a little obsessed with Christmas cookies.
Every year, I hassle people - Brian, my mother, my grandmother, friends - to make Christmas cookies. Typically people are not exactly brimming with enthusiasm. Something about calories, or fat, or having delicious things that have a lot of calories and fat hanging around the house during the bleakest, most housebound time of the year.
But I'm still obsessed. And this year, three things are coinciding to make it the best Christmas cookie year ever.
1. I'm pregnant. Fat? Calories? Hahahahaha. Already there.
2. My mom's group is going to have a Christmas cookie exchange. Excuse to bake!
3. I'm training a ringer.
Christopher has discovered a new love - baking. It allows him to sit on the counter (under close supervision, of course) and "help" me measure ingredients, pour them into the bowl, spill things all over the place. He loves it. I can tell myself I'm introducing him to reading, following instructions, and math (he looked at me blankly today when I asked him to add 1/3 and 2/3, but he'll catch on soon). He was grouchy this morning, until we started to make muffins. By 8 a.m., we had a batch in the oven and he was happy as a clam.
I think it will be pretty easy to transition him to cookies, especially since he's become obsessed with the subject (thanks, Cookie Monster). So, I'll be able to set up a sweatshop and feed my obsession - literally. Let the countdown to Christmas season begin.

They let young'uns vote here

Christopher, Daddy and I went to the polls at 7:15 a.m. today - and walked out with our precious "I voted" stickers at 9 a.m. Yes, Christopher got one too - make of that what you will.
Christopher did fairly well with the long wait. Lots of books and goldfish crackers, and riding on daddy's shoulders. Afterward, we celebrated his coming of age at Borders, then let Jack loose in the woods while we played outside. Alas, he always comes back. (Jack, I mean. Not the kid. I don't let the kid go anywhere in the first place. I don't want to know if he would come back.)

Naptime is now helltime

Christopher has decided he doesn't like naps. He still needs them - gets grouchy, falls asleep in the car without them - but he certainly doesn't like them.
We have had every kind of disruption possible. He has taken off his diaper, peed in his crib, taken the sheets off of his crib. And the throwing the stuff out of the crib every day is pretty much routine.
Today, he emptied his water on the floor. And the crib.
Tomorrow, I'm going to put him into the dog crate for his nap. (Kidding, I kid. Probably.)

Fatherly Love

When I was little, we went to the beach every year. And every time we went, my dad built sand castles, took me in the ocean and, once every trip, he dug a fabulous tunnel in the sand.
I didn't know until years later that my dad actually hates sand. Passionately hates it. Learning that was one of the first things that made me start to understand what being a parent - a really good parent - really means, and how much my dad loved (well, loves) me and wanted me to be happy.
On our way home on the Metro on Wednesday night, Brian played with Christopher while I read. After a few minutes, he said quietly "Look at this."
Brian's arm was covered in farm stickers. Christopher was taking them out of his sticker book and putting them on Brian's arm while he worked on finding the right pictures to match them to.
Brian hates stickers more than just about anything in the world. But he was just sitting quietly and watching Christopher put stickers on his arm and take them off again and not even flinching. I felt like my mom must have when she watched my dad, elbow deep in sand and not letting on in any way that he wasn't too happy about it.
I didn't get a very good picture of the scene, but I'll always remember it.

Deer Lake

Everyone's been having adventures outdoors lately.
Yesterday, Christopher and I admired three deer in the woods behind our house. About an hour later, I took Heidi outside, with no leash, forgetting her affinity for deer. I watched as she walked, then jogged toward a suspicious scent, then flat-out ran after the one deer that had hung around. I was worried, but more entranced by the sight of her pursuing the beautiful deer. She was flying down the hill, tail flying, and even from the distance at which I stood I could see her eyes shining and her mouth opened in what seemed to be a smile. But no matter how fast she was, she was after an adult male deer, and she returned, defeated but still smiling, a few minutes later.
Today the four of us - Jack, Heidi Christopher and me - went to the park behind our house. I wanted to walk the dogs on the trail around the lake, but the idea was a disaster. They flew into the lake, leashes still on. They were so fast they almost tipped over the stroller, and Christopher promptly started crying. He wasn't upset or hurt; he wanted to go in the lake too. And he did - waded in about a foot to throw a stick to the dogs and promptly fell in. But he recovered, though his clothes still haven't - as you can see from the picture.

Peace, at the grocery store.

I went to the grocery store alone today. After the past few months of always being, um, accompanied, it was a revelation. I could squeeze fruit. I could read labels. I could browse. I meandered, I wandered. It was wonderful.
I was so into my solitude that when I got to the grocery store, I forgot to talk to the clerk and tell her I had brought reusable bags.
"Sorry," I said. "I was so happy to be here alone, without my son, I guess I zoned out."
"How old is he?" she asked.
"Almost two," I said.
"Mine is seven months, and I love bringing him to the grocery store," she said almost smugly.
I couldn't help it - I laughed and laughed, and then did that annoying more-experienced parent thing. "Just wait," I said.