Andrew is an unbelievably good sleeper.

He wasn’t always, but he is now. At least 10 hours at night and 2-3 (often more) hours every afternoon - like clockwork. It’s a beautiful thing and I do everything possible not to mess with it.

But there was a day last week when it all got messed up. As usual, I had a plan. He would wake up at 6:30 (he always does, you know), we would play hard all morning, down for a nap at 12:30 and up in time to go for a walk with my friend at 4:00. Perfect. Foolproof.

Except he slept until 8:30.

I watched him carefully all morning for signs of tiredness, but he was going strong. 12:30, 1:00, 1:30. I knew he needed to go to sleep soon if I wanted to avoid having to wake him up to go for the walk. (Aside: The concept of ‘waking the dragon’ may have been created specifically to describe what happens when one tries to wake Andrew up. It’s frightening.)

At 2:00 the unthinkable occurred to me - maybe he should just skip his nap and rest in the stroller while Arlene and I walked.

I was feeling brave, so I broached the topic.

“Andrew, what do you think about skipping your nap today?”

He looked up at me, surprised, “No nap? But why?”

I started the explain the intricacies of our schedule and reminded him how grumpy he is when I have to wake him up and then I realized that I was over thinking (and over-explaining) the situation.

“We’re just not going to take a nap today, buggy. I’m sure you’ll be okay.” (read: I’m sure I’ll be okay.)

He went back to his sandbox, wide-eyed at the impossible turn the day had taken.

And, much to my chagrin surprise, it turned out just fine. He asked to go to bed at 3:00 and we compromised by watching two episodes of Curious George and snuggling.

As I sit here today, two hours in to his nap, a part of me still shudders to think that the day will come when he will not need a nap. When my introvert will have to look elsewhere for time to recharge. The thought of being on and engaged all day still terrifies me a little bit. But then I remind myself that those days are a ways off, and that he will be in school for some of the time, and that, as he gets older, he will become more and more independent. And I think of all the options we could have if we didn’t have to be home every afternoon, all the fun things we could do, all the places we could go.

I think that I caught a glimpse of the future, and I think that I’ll be okay.

Despite the gray clouds and pounding rain of yesterday morning, I think it is safe to say that summer is here.

Nothing tastes sweeter than the first ripe strawberries, washed with the hose.

We arrived at our neighborhood park to find that it had turned in to a construction site, something about expanding a culvert. The exciting part was that, when they went to lunch, the workers said that they would leave the doors open on their equipment and Andrew could sit in the cabs and pretend he was a construction worker!

O Happy Day! Who needs slides when you have heavy machinery?

I was going to write a letter to the city thanking these workers for going so far above and beyond the call of duty, but then Justin pointed out that they would probably get fired if anyone found out they were letting kids climb on the equipment or leaving it unlocked while they were at lunch. He has a point - considering the litigious state of our society. So I will trust that their good deeds will not go unnoticed.

So we went to the beach last weekend. Yes, I have adorable pictures of my child, and I’ll post them later, after I vent.

We went to the beach last weekend, and Andrew decided he was afraid of the water.

Not just afraid like he didn’t want to go in it. Afraid like he didn’t want to hear it. Or see it. Or be in it’s general vicinity in any way.

I don’t get it. Over Memorial Day Weekend, he and I played tag with the waves and now he has to be coaxed in to driving his trucks in the dunes?

Needless to say, this put a damper on our time at the beach.

On Saturday we managed to drag him kicking and screaming gently persuade him to come down and play in a stream where Grandpa helped him build a dam and, shocker!, he had a great time. But for the rest of the weekend we scrambled to find other things to do besides play at the beach.

The pinnacle came on Monday after my parents went home. The three of us were walking back to the car from one city park with the intention of driving to another city park. Andrew announced that he had to go to the bathroom, so we headed to the restrooms that border the beach. He got one look at the water (more than 300 yards away) and completely melted down because - the waves! There they were! And they were making noise! And they were going to get him! And we need to find another potty! And he really needs to go potty! After about 20 minutes clinging to me and sobbing he asked if we could just go home to Andrew’s house because everything here is too close to the water and he didn’t want to be that close to the water. We said no, we were on vacation and this was Mommy and Daddy’s vacation too and, while we didn’t have to go near the water, we were going to stay and find other fun things to do.

What kind of kid doesn’t want to stay at the beach?

ARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

And I know - I KNOW - I have to pick my battles and the kid has quirks and things will probably be fine the next time we go. And I know - I KNOW (so you don’t need to tell me, mom) - that I handled it beautifully and that I am so patient with him and that, in the long run, we will work together to figure out his fears. But that does not change the fact that he frustrates the hell out of me and since I can’t say that to him, I thought I would say it here.

(deep breath)

Do you know what else I know? He is exactly like me.

Andrew is becoming a boy of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. Okay, maybe not puppy dog tails, but you know what I mean.

I’m sure I will find something awful one of these days, I’ve already sent the pine cones in his pocket through the wash.

Works For Me Wednesday is hard without a topic!

This was the first week of our CSA, because nothing will get me to eat more vegetables like paying for them up front. The crazy weather is delaying some crops in our area by up to a month, so I wasn’t sure what we would find when we went to pick up our share.

This week it was greens, greens and more greens. Looking at this stash, I’m thinking cold chicken salad with a vinaigrette, apple-rhubarb applesauce, egg white scrambles or frittatas - oh yeah, this will work for me. I’m also going to look up some veggie smoothie recipes - who knows, maybe Andrew will eat them in milkshake form.

Since Andrew’s goal in life is to be a tractor driver, the CSA brings an added bonus of spending some time at the farm this summer. In July the kids get to work in their own garden plot and the siren song of you-pick berries and fresh herbs is calling my name.

Most CSA’s in our area are still accepting sign-ups for the summer share, you can find more information on your local CSA here and check out Rocks In My Dryer for more great Works For Me Wednesday tips.

I’ve decided to defy the weather and start playing outside. Yes, it’s still cold, but it is summer and we are going outside.

Today, on Justin’s day off, we put on our coats and went to Flaming Geyser State Park.

Have stick. Will travel.

We’ll turn him in to a climber yet.

After climbing in the tree, Andrew has decided that we are a family of birds and has been running around chirping for the rest of the day - that is, until he collapsed in to his four-plus hour nap.

Nature is a great thing.

…(and, trust me, I considered that option)

Sometimes you have to cut your losses.

It is 12:38 AM.

Andrew is downstairs watching Cars for the third time in the past 18 hours.

Apparently the side effects of sleeplessness, hyperactivity (especially in children), and restlessness listed on the side of the prednisone bottle apply to him.

Maybe I should have waited to give him the first dose until tomorrow morning.

On the plus side, he’s not wheezing anymore.

I’m really, really tired.

Every so often I like to enter myself in the race for Mother of the Year. It keeps me humble.

Last week, on a lovely sunny day, Andrew and I were at the park. It was mid-day and we were alone. He was happily driving trucks and I was sitting on a bench napping enjoying the sun.

Suddenly, I heard a dog bark and felt Andrew trying to climb my leg. I picked him up as three dogs ran through the park, followed, at a very leisurely pace by their owners.

Important note: Andrew is terrified of dogs. Fundamentally and totally terrified, especially when they catch him unaware. As for me, I am just not a dog person. With a very few exceptions (Scout, Buddy, Dixon, the late-great Sweetheart), I don’t like them. I don’t want to pet them. I don’t want them to drool on me. I want to approach them on my own terms.

So, while Andrew buried his head in my shoulder and frantically sought reassurance that the dogs would not lick him (his biggest fear), I tried to attract the attention of the wayward owners. They noticed me and called, “Oh, they’re really friendly.” Now here’s the thing: I’m sure they are. Most dogs are. I would still like you, as the owner, to keep them away from me. I smiled politely and called back, “Ok. But can you call them over to you? We’re not comfortable with them.”

They called the dogs off and continued walking. Andrew went back to playing. I fell back asleep sat back down.

About 20 minutes later, I heard Andrew start to whine. Assuming that his truck was stuck (a common occurrence at this park) I ignored him. As the whining continued, I became annoyed and opened my eyes only to see my son looking like a deer in the headlights as the largest of these three dogs (a Roteweiller mix, by the looks of him) races toward him. (Full disclosure: To her credit the owner was hot on the dog’s heels, calling him away. Unpredictability is one my least favorite traits in both dogs and people.) Andrew sees me jump up and lets out the worst, blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. It was a scream of terror. I scoop him up and, unapologetically, stop the dog’s advance with my foot - hard. The owner grabs the collar, apologizes, wisely says nothing about the kick and leaves.

As I sit with Andrew, trying to get his heart rate back to normal and encouraging him to breathe, I apologize to him for not paying better attention to his whining. He calms down and goes back to his trucks.

A few minutes later, I overheard him muttering to himself. “It’s okay. Mommy is sorry for forgetting about you at the park. The dogs won’t lick you. Mommy won’t forget you. It’s okay. The dogs won’t lick you. Mommy won’t forget you.”

Ouch.

Monday holidays always throw me. On Tuesday I’m trying to run my Monday errands. I wake up the next day, ready for a quiet, housework-filled Tuesday but it’s not Tuesday, it’s Wednesday and there’s an extra kid in my house. Thursday comes, busy with a playdate and my over-stimulated child melts down. Tomorrow is Costco day and afternoon yoga class.

I’m ready to stretch.

In the meantime, I’ll put up some pictures from our holiday weekend at the beach house with my Aunt from San Francisco. It was great!

He could choose three rides. He rode the bug three times.

A boy and his stick, what could be better?

AND, we found the best park in the world! Sweet mercy! We were there at 6:45pm, we will go earlier next time.

Here are the rest of the photos.

Flying down the hill.

I love this kid.

(When he’s flying his head acts as the propeller. The other day I asked him if he was ready for another haircut and he assured me that a haircut was a bad idea because - and stick with the three-year-old logic here - his face propeller won’t work without his hair. Awesome.)

From my

Coffee-Grinding

Fire-Truck-Driving

Flower-Gathering

Wheel-Washing

Goofy-Grinning

Garden-Helping

Little Buggy.

It’s good to be the Mommy.

Anyone who has been in the same room with Justin or myself for any period of time knows that we often cross the line between well-informed and insufferable know-it-all.

Whether by nature or nurture, Andrew has become quite the expert on a variety of topics.

Fortunately, he doesn’t get nearly so offended when we laugh at his mistakes.

For example, this conversation about Filmore -

“Mommy, did you know that Filmore is a bookswagon van?”

“A Volkswagon van?”

“No Mommy. You are a little bit confused. Filmore is a bookswagon because he is full of little, tiny books.”

We rewarded ourselves for all of Justin’s overtime by buying a new camera.

Justin took this picture at the park last night, convincing me that this was a good investment.

I was relaying a conversation about my spreadsheet obsession to Justin over lunch the other day,

“…and then she said we were all big geeks!”

when Andrew jumped in,

“A geek! I’m not a geek. I’m just a dragon.”

Justin grinned,

“Andrew, most people who think that they are dragons are, by definition, also geeks.”

My favorite thing about the Children’s Museum is that, no matter how often we go, Andrew always finds something different to enthrall him. The most recent obsession, a recording studio. He is his father’s boy.

Added bonus: I think the fact that he will now consent to wearing headphones means that we can ride on an airplane!

With three girl cousins Andrew often ends up playing games like Fairyland. Contrary to the face in the picture, he usually manages to enjoy himself.

They have big plans for him, as Bree said when she found out he was a boy, “Oh good! Now Sarah doesn’t have to be the prince anymore.”

Andrew is peeing in the potty like a pro…

…but he is, and I quote, “too afraid of the poop.”

Any suggestions, O wise ones who have gone before.

even when he spends most of the day acting like a little, three-foot-high terrorist.

I’ve taught him well. He’s singing to the columbines.