It’s funny how toddler brains work. I’m noticing that Robbie’s seems to rapid fire, placing random things he knows and can say together, even if it doesn’t really make sense. His new favorite saying? “Holy Cow! Moo!” I guess it makes sense. Cows do say “Moo.” But it really only confuses things that Robbie’s giraffe is named Moo.

We also focused on sharing today, something I’m hoping will help him react a little better when his best friend from daycare has a toy he would like. And, in spite of a sharing snafu today, when I picked Robbie up from daycare today, A wrapped Robbie up in a big hug and said, “QiQi is my bestest friend in the whole wide world.” And all I really have to say about that is, “Holy Cow! Moo!”

Last night, we put Robbie to bed early. After all, he’d only gotten seven hours of sleep the night before (we had to be up early for a 10K, that I finished in an amazing 1:15:19!). Despite a four-hour nap, Robbie was cranky by 6:30. So, he was off to bed where he fussed for a while before finally falling asleep.

Justin went up a few hours later to put some laundry away and immediately called me up. And there he was. My son, naked from the waist down. He had tossed his pants over the side of his crib and chucked his diaper into the hallway. So we did what any responsible parents would do: we took pictures. And, in a shocking move, I will not be posting them here even though nothing is showing.

Imagine my surprise this morning when I got an email from Justin telling me that he found our son awake in his crib. Naked from the waist down. Needless to say, tonight he’s sleeping in footed pajamas. After all, one of these mornings he’ll have poop in his diaper.

We took Robbie from one shore to the other on Saturday. No, we didn’t travel to California. We went from the South Shore to the North Shore. I think it’s an event best described in pictures…

We walked the mile loop, and the dogs swam. Then we found the hill… The dogs took off up the incline, with Robbie quickly following. He managed to make it up with minimal help from Uncle CaCa (Micah). He held Micah’s hand for a few minutes when it got rough, but he really wanted to do it on his own.

There was a big hill, and Robbie had a blast running up and down it.

And Justin tried to show him how to role down the hill.

It wasn’t very successful. Robbie had more fun going down the hill with Aunt Allie.

And climbing back up again.

When Robbie needed a break for some water, he felt like he needed a space. Rob took off down the hill and across a field to find a place to sit and have a little peace and quiet.

After the dog park in Hingham, it was off to New Hampshire for a little lobster at Markey’s and ice cream at Dunlap’s. Robbie liked the experience so much that he wanted to be a part of the ice cream.

And, yes. There was more. We headed to Joe’s Playland for a little arcade fun. Now, Robbie’s been there three times, and he knows how this works. He puts the quarter in, presses the buttons, and collects the tickets. And he gets the adults in his life to pour all their money into the machines to win him a new Cookie Monster and an Elmo. And then he falls asleep in the car, only to have his terrible mother making him take a bath at 11:00 at night.

Yeah. It was a full day.

Justin, Robbie, and I were on our way out of the store with groceries for tonight’s dinner when we saw the flier reminding us of the Greek festival going on down the street. We debated in the parking lot for a few minutes before Justin ran the groceries inside and we piled in the car for a little Greek food. After all, nothing like a little lamb, feta cheese, and baklava the night before a Jenny Craig weigh-in.

The line was outside the tent and down the sidewalk. We waited well over half an hour to get to the front of the line, with a very special young man in line behind us. He started crouching down next to Robbie about fifty yards outside of the tent. He continued next to us most of the way through the line. At one point, I had to ask him three time not to hand my child a piece of trash he found on the floor. Three times! He had the nerve to tell me it was OK, as long as Robbie didn’t put the piece of plastic in his mouth. Oy!

About three bites into dinner, Rob got moved by the music. He hoped down from his chair and started to boogie in the middle of a very busy aisle. Barefoot. You know, ’cause that’s the kind of classy we are. He made his way to the dance floor and clapped and twirled all over the tent-covered parking lot. I would have given anything to have had my camera. He moved with such abandon, not caring about anything but the music. And the girls. He loved the girls on the dance floor.

You know, every now and then being an adult is so much better than being a kid. Like tonight. I loved getting to decide last-minute what to do with my family. Or, occasionally, to have ice cream instead of a real dinner. It kind of takes the boring out of the monotony that life can sometimes bring.

Remember how I told you about the girl from daycare whose father pulled her out? Yeah. More has come to light on that. It turns out, the father didn’t actually see Robbie do anything to his daughter. He saw Rob pull another girls hair and push her, which is, in my opinion, much less egregious. It’s nowhere near as terrible as a face clawing.

One of Zhining’s policies is that she only gives a deposit back if she is given two weeks notice. This girl’s parents pulled her out in one day, so they do not get their deposit back, which did not sit well with the father. Apparently, he sent Zhining an email saying that he pulled his daughter for her own safety because my son was so dangerous that he shouldn’t be in daycare.

Now, my response to this is somewhat mixed. I don’t think my son is malicious. Or dangerous. I do, however, think he is a 22-month-old acting out in pretty typical ways. I don’t like those ways, and we’re working on that. What I hate is that we’re going to be “that” family for them. The ones who ruined daycare. The parents who have no control over their child.

Justin was a little more concise in his response: he burst out laughing. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. And I wish that had been my response. I’m thankful that Zhining also feels the entire thing is stupid and that the problem lies with the parent and not Robbie. She told me today that she thinks the problems will just continue because the little girl has been enrolled in an unlicensed daycare. Best wishes for that family. I really hope there aren’t any children “too dangerous for daycare” there. Surely no one bites, hits, pulls hair, or shoves in that setting…

Rob loves balloons. And, as a faithful reader of my blog and listener to my stories at lunch, my good friend Elys knows this. So, it only made sense that she would stop and pick up a few balloons for him on her way over for a Tupperware party Wednesday night. Robbie was immediately sold on Elys and ran around for the next half hour with his balloons.

He didn’t let go of them for the next three and a half hours. I put him in bed with his balloons and an episode of Sesame Street on the computer. Really, the goal was just to keep him quiet, even if he didn’t go to sleep. And he didn’t. When I came upstairs three hours later, he was in the same position: standing at the foot of his crib, looking up at Sesame Street, and clutching his single remaining balloon in his right fist. I finally wrangled the balloon string away from Robbie and got him to fall asleep and thought I was home free.

Wrong. So wrong. I woke up at 3:00 in the morning to screaming. Heart-wrenching screams from the room down the hall. I went in, saw the balloon on the floor, and looked at Robbie. He had tears streaming down his face and was pointing at the floor, crying, “Bon bon! Bon bon!” (his new word for balloon, even though he actually knows how to say balloon). I handed it to him on my way to get him some milk, and he just cried harder, limp balloon in hand.

He finally fell asleep, but that wasn’t the end of the bon bon. As soon as we got home Thursday, he ran upstairs to look for it. And that poor balloon followed him around the backyard for the rest of the afternoon.

We finally got our gate fixed a few weeks ago, so Robbie is able to play outside with the cats and dog. Everyone is thrilled to be out of the confines of the condo, especially Robbie. I didn’t realize how much Robbie liked it until we were on our way home from the gym today. From the back seat, I heard a little voice say, “Pay, Mama. Pay.”

Now, a novice mother would have perhaps thought her son was offering cash for all the services she had provided – chef, chauffeur, therapist. However, I am no novice. I knew there was no way my child was at all aware of all I have done for him over the past 22 months and 3 days, much less having any concept of cash.

But, I digress… Being familiar with Robbie’s pronunciation patterns, particularly when he shouts “Pane!” whenever he sees a plane, I figured Robbie actually wanted to play. And I was right. As soon as we got home, Rob ran to the back door, throwing a haphazard wave toward his father. He got to the door, looked at me, and said, “Pay! Pease!” as he tried to open the door. He managed to let me carry him down the stairs, but, once he got to the porch, he was on his own.

He ran around the yard like a manic, racing up and down the stairs and around the table. He threw balls to the dog. He poured an entire Diet Coke into a bowl on his pretend grill and then swept it all over the place. He swept up yard debris. He rearranged chairs. And then he crashed, barely making it through dinner.

Apparently, I don’t feed my child enough. You know, between breakfast, lunch, and graham crackers at church, I had some other things going on. This was unacceptable to Robert Manna. He came down from his nap raring to go, making rounds of the downstairs, checking to see that everything was just as he left it.

I was making the filling for a pie while he did this, and Rob came into the kitchen and stopped for a few minutes. He looked at me and shook his head. Then, the child went to the kitchen drawer (we actually only have one), opened it, got out his fork, closed the drawer, walked over to me (fork held high), and proclaimed, “Eat!”

Well. Of course. When you put it that way, how can I say no? After wrangling a “please” from the cherub’s lips, I found the only kid-friendly thing left in the house. Peanut butter. And Rob happily walked away, licking it off his fork.

We were the epitome of class today. Justin and I took Robbie to Suffolk Downs. For those of you not familiar with the Downs, let me tell you it’s a cultural experience. Now, I come from Kentucky, and, until we moved to Boston, the only race track I’d been to was Keeneland.

Keeneland is everything racing should be. The place is always packed; the grounds and staff are impeccably kept. The horses are fast and the races intense. Standing at the fence as they come down the stretch at Keeneland is an experience everyone should have.

Suffolk Downs is the exact opposite. There wasn’t even anyone collecting admission when we got there, so we walked right in. I wheeled the stroller through the Keno machines and simulcast monitors, swerving around people who hadn’t showered in a few days and needed to get their racing fix. Outside, regulars had their own lawn chairs set up. Men wander around without shirts. The favorites always win at Suffolk Downs. They’re the horses that are just shy of looking emaciated.

So why do we go? Did you just read the paragraph above? We go for the culture. OK, OK. We actually needed to cash my ticket from the Derby (I won $109.50!) and figured we’d have a free day at the track. Plus, the planes landing at Logan come in right over the course, and, as Robbie is in a plane phase, that seemed like a good idea. Actually, it was just a convenient excuse.

There’s a playground and we thought it might keep Robbie occupied while we looked at the program. He liked it, but the whole thing terrified me. It. Was. A. Death. Trap. The slide looked like some sort of tongue, with no sides. I probably would have fallen off, never mind my 22-month-old son. Fortunately, all our efforts paid off. We left after cashing in on a trifecta. After being down $48, we walked away up $41.

From Suffolk Downs, we thought it best to continue with our family adventure by going to Chuck E. Cheese. I’m not even sure where to begin. The entire way there, Robbie told us he was hungry and wanted to eat. All we heard was, “Hungry. Hungry. Hoon-gree. Eat, please. Eat. Eat.” But, once he saw the games and lights and other kids, it was, pun intended, game over. He did not want to sit down and eat. He did not want to drink anything. He just wanted to run. This became problematic when our food actually did come, and I had to eat with a struggling toddler in my arms. We managed to survive the meal without much trouble.

At home, it was time for some yard work. Continuing with our classy streak, Robbie had to be stripped down before he was allowed to enter the house. He sat in mud puddles, shoveled mud in his mouth, and did his best to scrub down his toys. He picked up leaves and swept dirt. The only way to deal with the mess was to strip him down. He got to the door, naked, looked at me, and said, “Bath, Mama. Bath.” And took off up the stairs faster than I’ve seen him move in a while.

Our yard is a disaster. Epically so. With rain nearly every day for a month, all the stupid helicopter seed pods are stuck to the ground. I figured a Thursday night would be a great time to try to uncover everything. For the first time this year, I was able to be in the yard with Robbie, the dog, and the cats without worrying that someone would slip through the broken gate and out into the street.

Although I did get some things done, Rob made progression extremely difficult. Every time I picked up the broom, he wanted to sweep. When I grabbed the rake? He wanted the same rake. Even though there was an identical rake right next to me. We went back and forth ten, eleven times before he figured out a more fun game.

Last year, a friend from work gave me two mini lawn chairs for Robbie to use. This afternoon, Rob uncovered them. He sat on both of them together. He moved them around the yard, changing from one to the other, lounging while he watched me pull weeds.

I’m starting to realize how different this summer will be than last. Robbie can play and entertain himself. He doesn’t just have to watch other kids have fun. I think that once the yard is picked up, we’re in for hours of fun. And I, for one, can’t wait!