1m2aSandbox

Maddie spiked a fever on Friday afternoon
and ran with it all weekend, staying in the 102s and 103s through
Sunday night. Hopped up on children’s Motrin, she felt fine
if a bit listless, and didn’t understand why she wasn’t
allowed out and about to play with friends. Crying bitterly when
told she couldn’t go to church and children’s chapel,
Maddie was genuinely bewildered at her enforced quarantine. For my
part, I wasn’t too worried as long as the fever stayed
manageable and no other symptoms showed up.


So for the weekend Maddie actually had it pretty good; we’ve
got her travel inflatable toddler bed, and when she’s sick we
blow it up and throw it on the floor of the gameroom. During sick
days, all restrictions on television are off – it’s the
only way to keep that busy girl down and resting. Which means that
the weekend turned into a Sesame Street and Davy and Goliath
marathon, with Maddie lying pale and contented, ice water and
crackers at her side, while the rest of us tried to keep Cora away
and prayed no one else suddenly got hot.

My grandmother was an avid bird-watcher,
with a set of binoculars and a well-thumbed bird book resting on
the kitchen windowsill out at the farm. She had several types of
feeders around the porch, including two hummingbird feeders hanging
in different spots. No matter how many times she’d seen one,
every time a hummingbird would fly up she’d inhale sharply
and say in a low voice, “Oh, look at that! Isn’t it
beautiful?” Gramma loved seeing the birds hold, motionless
except for a blur of wings, as they drank out of the feeder, their
long slender necks pulsing as they swallowed rapidly.


When we moved to Texas we set up several birdfeeders around the
house at prime watching spots, and there’s no one in the
family who enjoys them more than Cora. At first, the large feeder
hanging not far from a living room window drew the largest avian
crowd, and Cora would lean against the window, breathing foggily as
she watched the cardinals and robins hop around eating. Then the
feathered gang found the one hanging outside our breakfast room,
and every morning we had prime seats for the show; everyone would
arrive and feast, singing up a storm and throwing leftovers down on
the ground for the doves and squirrels. We’d also hung two
hummingbird feeders up in the same place, but for some reason the
word never spread and the feeders stayed unused.


Until a few weeks ago.

I know, I know, Maddie’s older than
most kids who still take a nap, so I should be grateful we’ve
had such a great run. But I can see her outgrowing it, and
I’m going to give up that “me” time in the
afternoon only by kicking and screaming.


After all, it’s only been a few short months that I’ve
had both girls reliably napping at the same time every day, and I
cherish that hour or so which I can use to start dinner, pay bills,
or on rare occasions simply sit and stare at the forbidden
television. I count on that time as my sanity saver, and need a
mental break from both girls for at least a few precious minutes a
day. Which is why I took a page from my girlfriend Abby’s
playbook, and began segueing into “quiet time”.

Hey, guess what Cora’s newest word
is?


Yep. Life officially got harder around here.


A few nights ago, Cora was sitting on the couch holding a book. My
mom walked in and started to reach for her, saying, “Cora, do
you want to go sit down and eat dinner now?”


Cora looked at my mom, leaned back cozily on the couch, opened the
book, shook her head, and smiled, “Naah.”


I stopped in my evening meal preparations and stuck my head around
the corner. “What did she just say?”

Yesterday we hit a milestone in the potty
training – a full day without using the pull-ups.


And just in time, too, because we’d hit this sort of plateau
– Maddie pees like a pro at home, but shows no interest
whatsoever in trying to potty in public, and will use her diaper
without discussion at church or the mall or even a friend’s
house. Once she tried to go at the roller rink, but that’s
the closest we’ve gotten and I’ve said she has potty
training ennui, too lazy and bored to go any further. Apparently
the lure of lollipops only gets you so far.

I was chatting with a friend of mine
yesterday, discussing her daughter’s impending start at
preschool. The mom is a bit nervous and already sad at the thought
of missing her daughter, and thinking to comfort her with how much
fun her daughter will have, I said, “Well, just think –
your daughter may well be in Maxum’s class and they can play
together!” Maxum is one of the boys in our playgroup, and
definitely at the top of Maddie’s friend list here in Dallas.


The other mom shrugged. “I don’t know – we played
at the park the other day and my daughter and her friend all ran
from Maxum as much as they could – oh no, a boy! Run
away!” I laughed and said, “That’s definitely not
Maddie!” The other mom said, “Oh, I know.
Maddie’s always saying, ‘I want to sit next to
Maxum!’ I swear, Jennifer, I’ve never seen a toddler
with such a crush on a boy as your Maddie on Maxum.”

I have to confess that for the past few years, I’ve watched the whole back-to-school frenzy with a kind of smugness; as a mom of babies and toddlers, I’ve been immune to the artificial season of School Is Here! Maddie’s routine never varied, and we still woke up, went to the park, took a nap, and played with her toys every day regardless of the weather or ringing of a bell. The biggest variation in our schedule was Sunday, when we went to church instead of the park.

So I’d see the moms with their shopping lists, their eyes already haggard as they tried to figure out schedules and timing and routines, and pity them, vowing it’d never be me. I mean, school starts, the schedule is obvious – how hard can that be to organize?

Shut up. I hear all you seasoned mommies laughing at me.