1. Do I even need to go in to the drudgery of trying to run a household+2yearold without a voice? Getting ready in the morning with all of the logic and explaining and distraction techniques that I have to do on a normal basis is multiplied 10 fold by not being able to do them at all. I mean, had you been doing this your whole life, it wouldn't be a problem. But, to be so simply voiceless all of a sudden (figuratively and literally) has been a hard humble pill for me to swallow. This is the second time this year I've been struck by laryngitis and I suppose I should start to see the signs. More listening and less talking, right? Dear Higher Power, between you and me...I am working on it...soooo, please give me my voice back. Thanks.
2. Trying to make myself feel better, I decided to take a bath. Our new-to-us house has a boss, full-sizeed whirlpool bathtub...one that gets cleaned out once a month-ish and stared at mournfully. I can probably count on one hand the numbers of baths I have taken - laying about doing nothing just isn't my style. And, unless there is some funny tub business going on, bath tubing is a whole lotta wasted time. I mean, my glue gun doesn't stretch that far.
Anyway, I decided to take a bath. Not patient enough to allow the 700 gallons to run in to the tub, when the water looked close enough to being over the jets, I went ahead and powered it on. My body would displace the water a little more, right? Standing OUTSIDE THE TUB, this thought went through my brain and I leaned over and switched on the jets (please note: water can't be displaced if you AREN'T IN IT).
It took so much concentration to get me centered on wanting to take a bath and focusing on the relaxed part that all aspects of science simply left my brain. The milisecond that the air from the jets hit the water, water hit my ceiling. It was as if I was standing in front of a fire brigade (insert appropriate cussing here)!!! Apparently, water spews. Really far. So, before getting in to the tub (and after I let another two inches of water tumble in) I ended up doing gymnastics to clean off the ceiling, mirror, door, floor.
3. Even my mom agreed, something about Mellow's loss of hair has turned him in to a boy. A stick throwing, booger wielding, bat (the animal) obsessed boy. His thought process and coherence has tripled. For example, I went to give him his daily Claritin and he informed me, all no med-cine, mama, I feelin' fine. And, really, I couldn't argue with him. He is totally in to science and we get to have long overly elaborate conversations about why there is fog on the lake and what kinds of food deer eat. He is getting so patient at playing catch and kicking the ball and rolling on the skateboard. I abuse his intensity by asking him to help out with everything - he can put mixing bowls, silverware, cookie sheets away. He knows where the kitchen towels, hand towels, and socks go. He loves putting clothes in the laundry and washing his own hair. I look for this to all turn sour - like finding my ipod in the dryer or having him stomp out of the room every time a chore needs to be done. He will be 2.5 next week, going on 16.
4. Speaking of my mom, she was down this weekend to witness Mellow in all his glory. He kept her busy picking up sticks in the yard and looking for ladybugs. I kept her busy making chicken soup and tending to my virus ridden body. Overall, she was the amazingness that she always is. Her little influence on both me and him must have really changed us - after she left, Mellow at her chicken soup (Noodles! Chicken! Peas! Carrots!) and loved it. Last night he begged for helping after helping of corn. My kid? Believe it. Another reason to demand Mimi to visit more often (I won't fail to mention that she brought me cool old rice sacks, a comforter to re-do, fabric, and fun stuff!).