May 9, 2007 | Mama Smith

chubby feet

Matthew has just left for our home meeting. I opted to stay home and tend to our sick little boy, Levi. Just as I’d settled him down for the evening, I hear cries from Brighton’s room. Somewhat unusual for the guy who typically conks out in zombie mode from the moment Matthew drops him in bed until 7am the next morning. So I poked my head in to see his foot stuck between the crib bars. This isn’t the first time. But it was the first time I couldn’t UNstick his foot.

How he managed to wedge his chubby ankle in that tight, I don’t know. As he flopped down on his back sobbing at my lame attempts to free him, I began to wonder if I’d have to break out the saw or if there was some way to just rip off the bars. After 10 minutes of twisting his chunky foot, we finally freed the poor thing.

5 minutes later. More cries from the bedroom. Another check reveals his foot is yet again stuck through the crib bars. Hmm. Now I’m beginning to wonder if he has his mom’s manipulative genes in him. If the action of shoving one’s foot through the crib bars warrants a visit from the parents, then hey, why not?!

I told him if he did it again he’d have to sleep with his foot through the bars the rest of the night. Not a sound has been heard from his room since.

It was that sort of wild and wooly weekend. A 6 hour drive to Charlottesville. A 5 day stay in unfamiliar territory. Another 6 hour return trip. It definitely pushed their limits, but our boys were troopers. Brighton loved shouting out “Wow, BIG truck!” with every semi that passed. Cute at first, totally annoying 1 hour into the trip when semi number 300 whizzed by. It was a loooong trip.

But it was worth it to be able to be with my mom after her surgery and hang out with Aunt Diggy again. Brighton loved showing off his new verbal skills yelling commands at the dogs my mom was staying with, and listing off letters and counting with flair for “Miss Ruth”, my friend’s mom who was housing our motely crew. His version of counting always excluded 7 and 8 for some mysterious reason, “1-2-3-4-5-6-9-10!”, he’d yell over and over.

We took a few pictures in the hustle and bustle, but Matthew has stolen the camera for the night to capture our home meeting’s “Italian Night”, in honor of our friends heading off to Rome. The crew is decking out as nuns, gondoliers, ancient Romans. I’ll try to get them up tomorrow though.

Blogging was so much easier with one baby to juggle. Between park trips, dirty diapers, stubbed toes, feedings, drying tears and various other managing-of-chaos techniques, I rarely find time to eat or pee, much less sit down to write. It may be hit or miss for awhile until we find some sort of routine around here…hopefully…one of these days. Maybe this IS the new routine.

Good thing I flushed that fish. Now if I could just cross changing diapers or feeding children off the list, I’d have at least half my day back.