If I wasn't so tired I'd figure out how to get a photo of my crashed Element uploaded from my phone to this Web site. But I'm too tired.
The good news is Evan and I are just fine after hitting a huge deer on the highway Sunday morning. The bad news is the car is totaled. My saint of a brother-in-law cleaned it out for me yesterday since it was parked at a towing place much closer to his house than ours. It is now sitting abandoned in some sad salvage yard. I'm going to miss having that car. I'm going to miss having A car!
But I've got so very much to be thankful for.
Good Things Come in Tiny Packages
For two years we tried to get Kostyn to accept some type of stuffed animal or blanket that would help him self-soothe at bedtime. He rejected all comers in favor of the only two things that ever worked -- his pacifier and mama’s (or daddy’s) hand. Until recently, every single naptime or bedtime ended similarly: After books and prayers, hugs and lullabies and cover tucking, Kostyn would utter his last words of the day: “Mama hand?” He wanted to hold my hand as he fell asleep. And, ya know, “awwww” and all that, but after two years* of crouching beside his bed with my arm tingling from falling asleep in its awkward position, two years of trying to pick the exact safe moment to slip my fingers out from his dead-asleep grasp ... I’d had enough with the damn “Mama hand” thing. We’d nixed the pacifier sometime around 21 months, but this whole “Mama/Dada hand” thing was totally, ya know, outta hand.
And then, about a month ago, Kostyn took a shine to a little stuffed bear he found at the bottom of his bin of stuffed animals. Its very important presence in Kostyn’s bedtime routine happened overnight. One day out of the blue, as he was settling down for his nap, he suddenly grew concerned and asked, “Where’s Little Tiny Tiny Bear?!”
I of course had no idea what the hell he was talking about ... until he scrambled down from his bed and ran into the other room, returning with what appeared to be a tuft of brown fur snuggled up against his shoulder and a big smile on his face. “Little Tiny Tiny Bear!” he exclaimed, climbing into bed.
Hallelujah! was the first thing I thought when I saw how much Kostyn seemed to like this little bear. But that, of course, quickly became a double-edged sword.
The problem with Little Tiny Tiny Bear is that it is (wait for it.....) so damn tiny. It’s tiny tiny. To give you an idea of just how tiny this bear is, consider its origin: It came stuffed in the pocket of some hand-me-down overalls Kostyn got when he was 1. So yeah, it’s small enough to fit inside a 12-month-old’s pocket. Tiny tiny, I tell ya. Kostyn couldn’t have picked a more suitable name (though he could have picked one that wasn't quite so redundant). My cat coughs up fur balls that are bigger than this thing.
And like anything small, it’s easy for Little Tiny Tiny Bear to get lost, particularly when it’s in the care of a toddler who likes to leave his toys in random places for his parents to find. So while it’s wonderful to hear Kostyn ask for this so-small-it’s-practically-unhuggable bear at naptime instead of my hand, it’s also stressful.
The words “Where’s Little Tiny Tiny Bear?” fill me with panic as I glance around at the few predictable spots where Little Tiny Tiny Bear often resides between bedtimes. Because if it’s not there, Lord only knows where the hell it is, and nothing short of a crime-sniffing dog can find it.
Not only is it extremely small, it’s also dark brown, which is the exact shade of the hardwood floors, the couch, the dining room table and chairs, and every dark shadow and corner of our home. Ever hear of something “disappearing into the woodwork”? That’s what Little Tiny Tiny Bear does.
More than once I’ve emailed or called Chris in the middle of the day, skipping all pleasantries to ask one pressing question: “Have you seen Little Tiny Tiny Bear?!?”
His response is usually something like, “Nah, man, we need to put an EPIRB on that thing.”
(And yes, I do feel -- and sound -- ridiculous saying the bear’s “given name” out loud. But it’s so fitting that even if I chose to describe the bear instead of embarrass myself by using its name, I’d still be saying the same thing. This is, of course, the genius of the Toddler Naming System.)
So Little Tiny Tiny Bear has taken a place of prominence in our lives, with a few notable side effects. First, it’s made me realize just how many pet fur-dustballs are rolling around under our furniture like tiny tumbleweeds; I’m forever mistaking one of them for Kostyn’s little furry friend.
But more importantly, it’s given me my hand back.
*When Evan was born Chris took over “bedtime hand” duties for Kostyn, as I was otherwise engaged in nursing a newborn to sleep.
And then, about a month ago, Kostyn took a shine to a little stuffed bear he found at the bottom of his bin of stuffed animals. Its very important presence in Kostyn’s bedtime routine happened overnight. One day out of the blue, as he was settling down for his nap, he suddenly grew concerned and asked, “Where’s Little Tiny Tiny Bear?!”
I of course had no idea what the hell he was talking about ... until he scrambled down from his bed and ran into the other room, returning with what appeared to be a tuft of brown fur snuggled up against his shoulder and a big smile on his face. “Little Tiny Tiny Bear!” he exclaimed, climbing into bed.
Hallelujah! was the first thing I thought when I saw how much Kostyn seemed to like this little bear. But that, of course, quickly became a double-edged sword.
The problem with Little Tiny Tiny Bear is that it is (wait for it.....) so damn tiny. It’s tiny tiny. To give you an idea of just how tiny this bear is, consider its origin: It came stuffed in the pocket of some hand-me-down overalls Kostyn got when he was 1. So yeah, it’s small enough to fit inside a 12-month-old’s pocket. Tiny tiny, I tell ya. Kostyn couldn’t have picked a more suitable name (though he could have picked one that wasn't quite so redundant). My cat coughs up fur balls that are bigger than this thing.
And like anything small, it’s easy for Little Tiny Tiny Bear to get lost, particularly when it’s in the care of a toddler who likes to leave his toys in random places for his parents to find. So while it’s wonderful to hear Kostyn ask for this so-small-it’s-practically-unhuggable bear at naptime instead of my hand, it’s also stressful.
The words “Where’s Little Tiny Tiny Bear?” fill me with panic as I glance around at the few predictable spots where Little Tiny Tiny Bear often resides between bedtimes. Because if it’s not there, Lord only knows where the hell it is, and nothing short of a crime-sniffing dog can find it.
Not only is it extremely small, it’s also dark brown, which is the exact shade of the hardwood floors, the couch, the dining room table and chairs, and every dark shadow and corner of our home. Ever hear of something “disappearing into the woodwork”? That’s what Little Tiny Tiny Bear does.
More than once I’ve emailed or called Chris in the middle of the day, skipping all pleasantries to ask one pressing question: “Have you seen Little Tiny Tiny Bear?!?”
His response is usually something like, “Nah, man, we need to put an EPIRB on that thing.”
(And yes, I do feel -- and sound -- ridiculous saying the bear’s “given name” out loud. But it’s so fitting that even if I chose to describe the bear instead of embarrass myself by using its name, I’d still be saying the same thing. This is, of course, the genius of the Toddler Naming System.)
So Little Tiny Tiny Bear has taken a place of prominence in our lives, with a few notable side effects. First, it’s made me realize just how many pet fur-dustballs are rolling around under our furniture like tiny tumbleweeds; I’m forever mistaking one of them for Kostyn’s little furry friend.
But more importantly, it’s given me my hand back.
*When Evan was born Chris took over “bedtime hand” duties for Kostyn, as I was otherwise engaged in nursing a newborn to sleep.
Wordless Wednesday
Here are a few pics from a recent afternoon spent wandering around Gettysburg (or as Kostyn repeatedly called it, "Daddy's Bird." As in, "Mama, we're going to Daddy's Bird!" and "We're here! We're in Daddy's Bird!"), which is a mere 30 minutes from the house. History buffs, y'all have an open invitation to crash with us and take in this amazing piece of American history.
Treat or Treat
I’ve been stressed out about this lingering bowl of Halloween candy on my counter. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m eating it, I’m just stressed out about eating it.) Chris didn’t want to take it to work, and I can justify giving my high-energy 2-year-old only so many Milky Way bites. (The cutoff came last week when he began asking for treats at breakfast. “I don’t want Cheerios. Treeeeeeeats!” And when his pretend “meat” in his little play kitchen set suddenly became “chocolate.” “Mama want some bread and carrots and chocolate?” Why, yes, I do. That’s the problem....)
I’ve thought long and hard about throwing out the whole thing like my friend Paula did, but tossing perfectly good chocolate into the trash just seems patently wrong. So in a fit of “What can I do with all these treats” madness, I started looking up recipes online for leftover Halloween candy. And I found this one. Even went to the store and bought a yellow cake mix, ready to crumble up the last of these Snickers and be done with it.
And then, the lightbulb. “Waaaaait a minute. In order to get rid of this candy and therefore not be tempted anymore by all these useless calories, I’m going to crumble up the candy and add it to cake mix, melted butter and brown sugar? And then eat THAT?”
Needless to say, I didn’t make the Snickers cookies.
I made chocolate chip cookies instead.
I’ve thought long and hard about throwing out the whole thing like my friend Paula did, but tossing perfectly good chocolate into the trash just seems patently wrong. So in a fit of “What can I do with all these treats” madness, I started looking up recipes online for leftover Halloween candy. And I found this one. Even went to the store and bought a yellow cake mix, ready to crumble up the last of these Snickers and be done with it.
And then, the lightbulb. “Waaaaait a minute. In order to get rid of this candy and therefore not be tempted anymore by all these useless calories, I’m going to crumble up the candy and add it to cake mix, melted butter and brown sugar? And then eat THAT?”
Needless to say, I didn’t make the Snickers cookies.
I made chocolate chip cookies instead.
I think it's his honey obsession
Overheard at our house tonight (while Kostyn was winding down with some "Classic Pooh" after bathtime):
Me: "I think Winnie the Pooh's kind of annoying."
Chris (looking at me like I'd just said I thought kittens were ugly and Santa Claus was a loser): "Robyn, he's a bear of very little brain." (In case you're not familiar, this is a direct quote from the narrator in "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.")
Me (taken aback by my husband's indignant defense of an animated character): "True."
[Silence]
Me (trying to redeem myself): "I like Piglet."
[Silence]
Me (walking away, muttering to myself): "Except for that damn stuttering."
I'm afraid for our kids' futures.
Me: "I think Winnie the Pooh's kind of annoying."
Chris (looking at me like I'd just said I thought kittens were ugly and Santa Claus was a loser): "Robyn, he's a bear of very little brain." (In case you're not familiar, this is a direct quote from the narrator in "The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh.")
Me (taken aback by my husband's indignant defense of an animated character): "True."
[Silence]
Me (trying to redeem myself): "I like Piglet."
[Silence]
Me (walking away, muttering to myself): "Except for that damn stuttering."
I'm afraid for our kids' futures.
Halloween
Thanks to my super-creative sister for making the boys' costumes. Kostyn got to be one of his favorite characters -- Thomas the Tank Engine, and Evan was the train master, Sir Topham Hatt. (Otherwise known as The Fat Controller. Sorta fits....) They had a blast and were a huge hit around the neighborhood!
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