Two years ago, we took Robbie on the Odyssey Easter brunch cruise around Boston Harbor for his first Easter.  We had done it twice before; once the year we were planning to move to Boston and again when I was pregnant with Robbie.  The picture from Robbie’s first Easter remains one of my favorites.  We are in front of the boat with the Easter bunny.  Justin is, of course, standing uncomfortably close to the rabbit – he may actually have his arm around him; Robbie and I are on the other side, about a foot away from the beast.  Robbie has said, more than once, “Daddy.  Easter bunny.  Good friends.” when looking at the picture.

I was hoping for nothing less for this year’s family Easter picture.  And I was rewarded.

What you may not be able to tell from the picture is that young Robert has a death grip on my neck and his knees are pinned to my sides in case I manage to untangle myself from his grasp.  He refused to even look in the direction of the Easter bunny, turning his head away any time I tried to get him to say hello.  You’ll also notice that Justin continues to stand awkwardly close to the Easter bunny.

Fear not.  We did get a good picture with the bunny.  My child may be many things, but a fool he is not.  The Easter bunny came to our table once we set sail.  With candy.  After that, Robbie was happy to stand with the pink-eyed rendition of the Easter bunny to have his picture taken.

Being the excellent and organized mother that I am, I figured it would be best to let Robbie decorate his first Easter egg on a boat in the middle of Boston Harbor.  Actually, I had totally forgotten about dying eggs until I saw the table at brunch, but telling the truth about that would just make me sound like a terrible mother.  Given that the boat was virtually empty, Robbie got to dye two eggs and later learned the intricacies of eating a hard boiled egg (which he hated).

We did manage to have a little bit of an Easter egg hunt later in the afternoon (yes, afternoon; I am fully aware that my child is in his pajamas).  It was thrown together last-minute after I got home from church, but Robbie’s young enough that he doesn’t know that.  In fact, he still thinks it’s pretty incredible that he got an Easter basket at all.  I’ll enjoy that freedom while I can…  I’m sure it’s not going to last much longer.

I shared my bedtime woes with a good friend of mine, and she imparted some get-your-kid-to-go-to-sleep wisdom.  And, no, it doesn’t involve any direct form of torture or physically attaching your child to the bed.  Incidentally, I’d been spending my free time trying to concoct some sort of invention to do just that, especially since Robbie is no longer in a crib and can roam freely.

Once Jill shared this wisdom with me, it made so much sense.  It seemed so simple.  This was, obviously, why it had not occurred to me. Bedtime became an emotional struggle; the time of day I dreaded the most.  Although now I still face it with some trepidation, it has improved.  Jill said she went through her whole bedtime routine and tucked her son in, explaining that it was time to go to sleep and she would see him in the morning.  She then positioned herself outside his door, waiting for the eminent escape.  The first time he made a break for it, she went through the whole tucking in routine again.  Any time after that, she simply picked him up and put him in bed without saying a word.

I didn’t buy it at first.  After all, I would be up all night returning Robbie to bed with this method.  But, seeing as how the child put a dent in my newly painted walls throwing books out of his room when I had a baby gate in the door, I figured it was worth a try.  The first night, it took 45 minutes.  The second night, 30.  And the third night, it just took one tuck in.  Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had relapses.  And don’t even get me started on the night Justin deviated from the schedule to watch the high school seniors announce their college selections and let Robbie watch it with him (Justin is typically not allowed to make an appearance at bedtime because he is too fun and the child uses him to get his way).

Most recently, I used the technique at nap time.  We haven’t had a good nap at our house in weeks.  Months, even.  And.  It.  Worked.  The kid was asleep within minutes.  Of course, this may be because he’d been out running on the beach like a fool for three hours, but it may also be my impressive parenting skills.  I’m going to go with the latter.

And so, as I close, it is almost time for another bedtime.  I’m not sure I have enough energy to face it, but I know the fall out will be greater if we deviate.  I think I can; I think I can; I think I can.

Just ’cause that’s what Rob wanted to do.  I was off for Good Friday, so Justin and I went to pick Robbie up at daycare together.  We were halfway home when, from the backseat, we heard a little voice say, “Wanna go beach, Mom.  Eat dinner.”  Justin and I looked at each other, shrugged, and turned the car around.

We didn’t spend a lot of time at the beach; just enough for Robbie to run around, get a little wet, dig in the sand, and generally make us happy.  We grabbed some Kelly’s (just one more thing to miss when we leave) and ate by the beach.  And then we went home.

It probably took us more time to get to the beach than we actually spent there.  It was most definitely a silly thing to do.  But sometimes it’s fun to be the grown-up and get to make those decisions.  It’s even better when you have a two-year-old to remind you that it’s OK to do things spur of the moment and that, more often than not, life is better that way.

This time last year, I ran my first ever 10K at the Cohasset Road Race by the Sea with a good friend of mine.  We plowed through it and finished in 1:22:45.  Anna and I managed to run the first four miles without stopping.  We may have walked .25 miles of the 6.25.  This year, although I am still waiting on the official time, I finished in 1:06:57.  Almost 16 minutes better than last year.

I’m not sure when it happened.  Probably when I started running with friends who are much faster than me, who talk while we run which makes it feel much less like a grueling workout.  And today I found myself facing a new challenge.  Justin registered me for my first marathon.  Memorial Day in Burlington, Vermont.   I started training partway through the program – an eight-mile run tonight.  

It was pretty terrible for the first mile, my body still angry with me for the race on Sunday and medication I’ve had to take for my jaw this week.  And then, you know what happened?  It wasn’t so bad.  I took my time and did the whole thing.  Yes, I walked.  It took me a little over an hour and a half.  I’m not sure how I’ll be feeling on Saturday after a 16-mile run.  But it is time all on my own without anyone to watch, clean up, or run after.

All bed time routines went to hell when Robbie transitioned from the crib.  And I am on the warpath, determined to reclaim my evenings.  There is no more cuddling to Buzz Lightyear before going to bed.  No more staying up, interrupting the sacred adult quiet time that used to exist in our house for a beautiful three hours before we went to bed.

I know it will be hard for the next week.  Miserable, even.  Lots of crying and begging.  Offering to stay up and let Daddy watch Buzz Lightyear.  Demanding more books be read.  Requesting coloring books.  Putting together puzzles.  Standing naked behind the gate (Robbie, not Justin or myself).  But we must stay strong.  We must stick to my naive new routine (dinner, bath, TV show, books, and quiet time).

It was particularly difficult tonight.  First, because Robbie’s cries shot straight to our hearts.  He wanted Daddy to give him a kiss.  He needed more books.  And he was just so tired that all he could do was cry.  But, more important than our child’s discomfort, it is the NCAA championship game, and our beloved Go Cats are playing.  Robbie decided, a mere three minutes before tip-off, that he was miserable with his current confinement and required both of his parents for the first twenty minutes of the game.

But now, at 10:08, all is quiet.  Including my beloved husband who is trying dutifully not to scare our downstairs neighbors to death with his cheering as the Go Cats lead Kansas by 17 points.  Here’s to Gr8ness!

Yesterday, when I read Justin’s Facebook status about the Final Four, I had a few questions.  It went a little something like this: “My Final Four in 1998 – hiding bourbon from RAs. My Final Four in 2012 – hiding candy from my two year old.”  I didn’t fully understand it until this morning, when I asked Justin why Robbie’s bathroom stool was on top of the refrigerator.

He had me get it down and ask Robbie to get candy.  Robbie said, “Sure, Mom!  Get candy!”  He carried the stool to the kitchen sink and climbed up.  He was dismayed to find (please don’t judge) dishes in the sink and refused to go any further.  I didn’t understand this but moved the four cups (see, it wasn’t that bad!) to the counter.

Robbie remounted the stool and shimmied his way into the sink.  He stood up, opened the cabinet, and grabbed a handful of jelly beans. I guess I need to find a new hiding place…

I knew it was too quiet.  But it was such a nice change of pace that I didn’t investigate early enough.  That was my second mistake.  My first?  Leaving the foot powder by the front door, in the immediate reach of a particular two-and-a-half-year-old.

When I called down to see what Robbie was up to, he came within my line of vision pretty quickly.  But he looked odd.  A little ghostlike, actually.  I did a double take and then craned my head to see closer to the front door.  Everything was covered in a thick, white powder smelling strangely medicated.

Intrigued, I went downstairs.  Robbie was grabbing handfuls of powder and rubbing them into our (loaned) entry rug.  The powder covered six pairs of shoes, one needlepoint keychain, every hardwood crevice, one entire shelf, and one poor gnome.  It.  Was.  Everywhere.

I asked Robbie to follow me upstairs, and he started to but stopped dead in his tracks.  “Hold on!” he exclaimed.  We waited a few seconds.  Then he ran to one empty spot on the rug and left a last handprint.  He said, “There!” and proceeded to come upstairs.

I didn’t realize until, of course, it was too late that he had brought the jar of powder with him.  He ran, ecstatic, through the halls, shaking powder as he shrieked with glee.  I know I should have been angry.  But I couldn’t be.  After all, who wouldn’t love to run freely, spraying powder all over the place?  Because I bet you’ve never done it.

For longer than I can remember, Justin and I have used the sign for “I love you” whenever we can see but not hear the other.  Driving away in a car.  Leaving to go through airport security.  You know, the really important times that you need for someone to know that you love them.  I finally decided to teach Robbie, who has been trying to master our other secret “I love you” sign – winking.

He laughed when I showed him the first time and tried to get his fingers to move in the right way.  I figured that was about all I would get.  So, you can imagine my surprise when we pulled into the driveway the other day, and I looked back at Robbie.  He was looking at his hands and looked up at me with a smile on his face.  Then, he showed me his hand and said, “Means ‘love you’, Mom.  See?” showing me his hands.  And, sure enough, he was doing the sign right.

We went in, and I asked Robbie to show Justin what he had learned.  Bless his heart.  Robbie tried to make the sign and couldn’t do it.  Embarrassed, he burst into tears and threw himself at Justin, crying, “But I love you, Daddy.  Can’t do it.  QiQi finger broken.  QiQi broken.  Still love you, Daddy!”

Last weekend, Justin and I were able to get away and be by ourselves for 51 blissful hours.  No house.  No cats.  No Robbie.  And it was perfect.  It was a little strange, too.  What do you do when there are no chores to do?  No child to entertain and put to bed?

You go on a bike ride for two hours and see all of historical Nantucket (including – to my pure delight – “The Shoe” where the Gilbreths from Cheaper by the Dozen vacationed).  You linger over lunch.  You see the movie you’ve been counting down the days for (Hunger Games was fabulous, by the way, even in the tiny, single theatre).  You visit a local brewery, ecstatic when your husband brings back the third tasting “sample”, which is actually a full-size beer.  You have a late dinner and don’t worry about how much you are going to owe the baby sitter (and enjoy the free desserts you get because your dinner took so long to prepare).  You go into shops with breakable things and clothes that you actually want to try on.  And, what the hell, you try them on because there’s no one to wail in the dressing room.

It was the perfect weekend, and the first time that Justin and I have been alone for more than a few hours since our anniversary.  With everything that’s happened in the past four months, we were in desperate need of some time just for us.  Some time to reconnect without work, family, or chores demanding our time.  Some time to just be in love with each other.

For the past few months, bath time has been a battle of near epic proportions.  I say it’s bath time.  Robbie tells me he doesn’t want it.  Some nights, he approaches a full-on tantrum.  And washing his hair and face?  Forget about it.  Justin and I do the best we can to throw some water and soap on his head, get a few good scrubs in, and throw some more water over him with only minimal tears – on anyone’s part.

So, it would make sense that, last week, I gave Robbie notice that it was almost bath time.  The water was running and he was finishing up an episode of Dinosaur Train.  There were still about three minutes left in the show, so I said, “Robbie, it’s almost bath time”, and sat down to finish my turn at “Draw Something.”

All of a sudden, I hear little feet move away from me and tear down the hall.  There was laughter, and I braced myself, waiting for him to stop.  The next thing I heard was a splash.

Running at break-neck speed, I  got to the bathroom too late.  My child, in the tub.  With all of his clothes on (fortunately, I had taken off his shoes).  And there was nothing I could really do except laugh.  After all, he’s probably only going to go flying into the tub with his clothes on once, right?

No.

The very next night, Justin ran bath water and came in to tell Robbie that it was almost bath time  before sitting down to check his email.  I was reading in the other chair.  Then, before we knew it, Robbie was running down the hall.  Before we could even react, we heard the telltale splash, looked at each other, and groaned.  And then realized that he still had his shoes on.