February 2009

To this point in his young life, Conal has primarily been a spectator in the world of sports. Sure, he’s dabbled in golf and he likes to shoot baskets in the basement and the bathtub. But, for the most part, he’s spectated.

Not today. Today, Owen took him to meet up with his pal, Ava, for some ice skating. According to Owen (I stayed at home — it was a sunny day and I had to take advantage of it and get out for a run!), they didn’t love the skating. But at least they got out there.


Conal even hung on the cone a little bit:


It looks like he did a great job when skating with his daddy:


All in all, a good first time on the rink!


Let’s say the cable guy comes to your house one afternoon. Maybe around 12:30, just after you’ve put your toddler down for a nap. All doesn’t go well so the guy ends up working on the cable problem much long than expected. By 3, your toddler is awake and the cable guy is still in your house.

Finally, the guy finishes up, telling you that the channel-specific problem is still a problem but one that someone else will have to correct. And then he leaves.

You and your toddler settle in to the playroom to put some puzzles together when the cable guy returns. He has more work to do. As he does, you get a whiff of your toddler and determine that a very smelly diaper needs to be changed. You tell the cable guy that you have to go upstairs to change the diaper and you do.

Your toddler, of course, wants nothing to do with having his diaper changed. Unfortunately, it can’t wait, as you quickly learn when you notice that not only is the diaper very smelly but it has leaked. All over your toddlers pants. And up his belly on to his shirt.

At this point, your restless toddler starts to squirm. Since all of his clothes are now dirty, you need to take them off. Not an east feat when you are dealing with a squirmer and you are self-conscious about his crying with the cable guy downstairs.

You get serious. Your toddler fights you. The wipes prove to be no match for the mess. The situation calls for a complete strip-down and bath. Again, your toddler fights you. As you struggle to get your toddler’s shirt off without getting any of the mess on the floor or your clothes, the cable guy begins to call for you. You hold your half-naked toddler at arms’ length and answer him. He tells you you’re all set and then starts to explain something or other but then he looks up to see that you are, indeed, holding a half-naked toddler and so he says he’ll just be going.

He leaves. You hustle your toddler into the bath. He screams. You want to, but don’t.

In the end, what should have been a 3 minute diaper change turns into a 15 minute episode. And a very, very bad idea.

I am a mommy, not a daddy. This is clearly an issue.

Not all the time, just on the weekend and, most recently, in the morning. Conal would like nothing to do with me in the morning. If he wakes up after Owen has already left work, and I go in his room to get him out of his crib, he goes bonkers. He sees me, a look of shock (Shock! As if his mom would be the last person that should ever enter his room!) comes over his face, and he twists around to see if anyone else is with me. I can tell exactly what he’s thinking: “Please let Daddy be behind her. Please!”

When he sees that I’m the only one there, he flails himself back on his mattress, arching his back and fake crying. It makes me feel just wonderful. Why, good morning to you, too, Conal! Yes, indeed.

It doesn’t last. I can usually distract him with promises of Chili waiting downstairs to see him, but still. What little guy doesn’t like seeing his mom in the morning? This one, apparently.

Remember that problem we were having with the separation anxiety? Guess we’re over that!

Another Friday night, another night out for the Little Jobber.

Last week it was time to celebrate Aunt Darci and Uncle Jer, this week it was time to root for RPI. Owen and my dad took Conal to the RPI hockey game and, unlike the last time, RPI acutally scored some goals and won.

They had a great time!



Congratulations, Jeremiah & Darci!


We had such a nice time at the wedding, and it was great to see two very cool people tie the knot. We wish you a lifetime of happiness together!

Friday night was Jeremiah and Darci’s rehearsal dinner and for Conal that meant party time! Or, I should say, crazy time. He was a wild man: running around, laughing, getting people to pick him up and hang him upside down.

He really had a great time with all of his peeps. He also had fun rolling around on the floor:



But his favorite part of the night was dessert. Sure, he ate several servings of eggplant rollatini and lots of tortellini. Some kids might have been full after all the food he ate. Not this Little Jobber. Oh, no. He saved room in that belly of his for dessert. And good thing, too, because he absolutely loved it.


He’d never had chocolate mousse before, and he quickly decided that he couldn’t get enough. He finished his dish of mousse and then grabbed mine. At some point, he gave up the spoon and started using his fingers to get as much of the mousse out of the dishes as possible.


Then he gave up using his fingers and went right in with the mouth.


Lovely, I know. The kid just couldn’t get enough.

We had an issue last night. It was, as they say, “High Drama.”

First, let me give you the background. It was a crazy day. Conal and I ran errands in the morning and then scooted over to the library for storytime. Back home, we ate lunch, played for a bit and then it was naptime. Only Conal decided it wasn’t. He was more interested in screaming time. And crying time. Screaming, crying time.

So, that’s what we did. We had screaming, crying time for a good two hours and then a quick nap. By the time the far-too-short nap was over, it was time for me to rush around and get ready to meet Owen at his office at 5:10 so I could hand-off Conal before heading to my 5:30 meeting. What this all meant was that I didn’t have any time to make dinner. Owen and Conal were going to be on their own.

The hand-off was fine, I went to my meeting and was out by 7:40 to get home in time to kiss Conal good night and relieve Owen so he could go to his volleyball game. Phew! Owen left, I changed into running gear and headed to the basement for a run.

So, the point is, there was a lot going on.

When Owen arrived back home at 10:30, he smelled something funny. He looked at the stove and noticed that one of the knobs wasn’t in the off position — but the burner wasn’t on. Yeah, so, the gas was flowing but not being burned off. The gas was flowing into our house, freely. Just going wherever it pleased. And had been doing so, presumably, since Owen made dinner around 6pm. That’s 4+ hours.

Um, let’s just say I was a little nervous.

Owen called the fire department to ask if there was anything in particular that we should do, aside from air out the house (in 2 degree weather!). Why yes, the nice dispatcher said, GET OUT OF THE HOUSE AND CALL 911!

And so we did.

I grabbed up Conal and we went to sit in the car. Owen called 911 and the dispatcher said they would send over “a guy” with a meter to check things out.

Now, I expected to see a guy. A guy as in one guy. One vehicle, one guy. Well, we got our guy. He showed up in a vehicle with flashing lights. No problem. It is probably protocol, I thought. And then the other vehicle drove up about a minute later. No lights on that one, just another guy. And then the paramedics pulled up, with flashing lights. Followed, of course, by the big fire truck, red and yellow lights flashing like crazy, huge flood lights illuminating our entire yard, driveway and house, with 4 (or 6, depending on whether you believe Owen or me) guys.

That’s not “a guy.” That’s MANY guys. Many guys in head-to-toe gear walking around our driveway at 11pm.

They went in the house. Came out. Went in again. They talked to Owen. I sat in the car with Conal. Conal figured he was having a dream.

The paramedic left. The firemen determined that the gas level was safe and so they left, too. The guy — the first guy, the guy who, it turns out, was the one who originally advised us to get out of the house — hung around and told Owen that it is better to be safe than sorry and that you need to take precautions and, hey, if there is anything else that we need, we should just call. So friendly, that one! And at 11:30 at night, no less.

Then he left and the drama was over. We put Conal back in bed and decided it was high time for a cocktail.

I hope to never see those firemen again!

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