We made it. In one piece. Actually, it wasn’t nearly as terrible as we thought it would be. We breezed through check-in.
Security took a matter of minutes. Waiting for the plane? Well, that took about two hours since we got to the airport so freaking early. But Robbie did pretty well give that he had to be confined. The flight? Refer to the posting I had in August for information about that, although this one wasn’t as bad because I had Justin, there was no vomit, it was a nonstop flight, and Robbie didn’t actually scream at the top of his lungs. He just fussed loudly and threw his head against the side of the airplane. Actually, relatively speaking, it was a pretty easy flight.

My brother-in-law picked us up, and we went back to his house to spend some time with him, his wife, and my father-in-law. Jarnetta, my sister-in-law, had never met Robbie. He took a little while to warm up, mostly because he doesn’t usually meet people out of state two hours past his bedtime. He decided she was pretty OK, though, because she has bells on her Christmas tree and he was allowed to play with them.

We’re at our hotel now. By we, I mean Robbie and myself. Justin (thankfully) went out with his dad and brother, so I have a little peace. Kind of. Robbie is still awake, four and a half hours past his bedtime… I’m noticing the eye rub, though, so I’m hoping cuddle time is going to happen. I’m not getting my hopes up though. However, it could happen. This afternoon, I asked Robbie to come give me a kiss and fully expected him to blow me one. Nope! My darling little boy ran across the room and gave me a big kiss on the cheek! For the first time ever. Definitely topping my what-am-I-thankful-for list this year!

I hate to leave you with what I feel is a sub-par posting, but it’s so late. And I’m so tired. And Kentucky basketball is on.

Remember when you were little and it was time to travel somewhere? Maybe it was Thanksgiving (ahem). Maybe it was Christmas. Maybe it was your first trip to Disney World? And all you wanted was to watch TV or read a book or do anything but help clean the house? After all, why bother cleaning the house when you’re just going to leave it. It makes no sense. You’re not going to be there to enjoy the clean, and your time could be much better spent elsewhere. And wouldn’t your mom be so much more pleasant if she was able to just be excited about the trip and not flipping her lid about clearing the dishwasher and finishing the laundry and taking the trash out?

That’s what I thought. You do it, too, don’t you? Yup. We’ve all joined the league of “Those Who Clean the House Before Attempting to Travel.” It’s a pain in the ass, isn’t it? I want to sit on the couch and do nothing. I want to eat dinner at a reasonable hour (it’s in the oven now). I want to actually call my sister back when I promise to (in 45 minutes, not 3 hours…). But no. That’s not how tonight worked out at all.

I’ll be honest; I thought about just giving into the filth. I battle it every day. There’s the litter box to clean (I wholeheartedly recommend stopping at two pets, by the way; Mom, you were so right about that one). The dishwasher to clear. The laundry to sort, clean, fold, and (on a really good day) put away. The bed has to be made every day. Toys need to be put away. Floors need to be vacuumed and steam cleaned (a new addition to the list). And I can’t go to bed if it isn’t all set and ready to wreck again the next day. I’ve tried to give in. I’ve tried to let the piles and fur and dirt and dishes not irritate me. They do, though. Especially when I’m trying to go out of town.

I can’t even pack until the house is clean, which is why the suitcase is still in the closet. Luckily, we bought last-minute plane tickets to Baltimore instead of driving to Annapolis (can you believe they were only $171 each?). So, I’ll have time tomorrow afternoon to enjoy lunch with Justin and Robbie and get packed. And thank goodness I have a clean house that will make that packing possible.

On Mondays, I pick up Robbie and his buddy Pete from daycare. Everyone comes back to our house, and my friend Rebecca comes to take Pete home around 5:00. As they’ve gotten older, Pete and Rob have started actually playing together instead of just existing in the same place. And, with playing, comes jealousy…

Robbie has a toy that he has never liked. Ever. It just never intrigued him, and I’ve been meaning to take it down to the basement to clear some space. It’s one of those walkers-turned-ride-on-toy things. It doesn’t light up or make noise, so Roberto is really all set with ignoring it. Until Pete noticed it. Then, all bets were off.

I looked up this afternoon to see Robbie pulling Pete by the shirt and Pete tried to “ride off” on the toy. Pete, understandably frustrated and concerned for his own safety, just tried to pull himself away with more effort. Undaunted, my son moved to Pete’s side and grabbed his collar. Then, with strength and rudeness that I am embarrassed to admit came from my child, he pulled Pete right off the toy. Onto the floor. And Robbie picked the toy up and took it across the room. He didn’t even ride it away! Robbie has no idea what the toy is actually used for (unlike Pete who knew exactly what it was when he uncovered it). He just knew that he wanted it.

Unfortunately, so did Pete, who was up and shaking the dust off his shoulders. Pete was across the room in a second, ready to fight for the toy. Each boy, standing, had one end of it. Until Pete let go and sent a startled Robbie flying across the room. Encouraged by this brief victory, Pete hopped on, hoping that Robbie wouldn’t be able to throw him off if he really dug his heels in this time. Although Robbie didn’t try to pull Pete off the toy, he did try to pull the toy with Pete on it.

At this point, I felt it was my parental responsibility to intervene. There were tears, red faces, and yelling. I did the only thing a responsible parent could do. I took the toy and put it on the dining room table. Then, I opened the tool kit, since it has about twenty different things for them to play with. And what happened? You got it. They both wanted the hammer…

It had to happen. I had to leave Justin and Robbie alone at some point for an extended period of time. After all, how could I leave for three days without a four or five hour test run? Today was the day…

I left the house at 11:15 to have lunch with some friends, leaving Justin in charge of Robbie and the horribly clogged toilet. When I walked out the door, Justin was still plunging away in our bathroom, frustrated that I was actually leaving him with the disaster. It should have been an easy afternoon for Justin, other than fixing the epically clogged toilet. Give Robbie some lunch, put him down, and play video games until his heart’s content.

And it was easy for Justin. Very easy. He put Robbie down and Robbie slept for over three hours. It was the perfect Sunday afternoon, lying on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, doing nothing.

Robbie had just woken up when I got home, and he seemed a little cranky. I picked him up and took him into the kitchen. He nearly leapt out of my arms when he saw the banana bread, shouting, “Na! Na!” (Chinese for “I want that”). He devoured the bread. And then he picked an apple from yesterday up out of the dog’s bed (don’t even ask…) and started eating it. He grabbed crackers out of my hand and shoved them in his mouth.

Being the intuitive wife and mother that I am, I asked Justin what Robbie had for lunch. Without even looking up from the computer, he said, “A bottle of milk when he went down for his nap.” Are you kidding me? Our sixteen-month-old has only had eight ounces of milk in the past eight hours? Really? Our conversation went something like this:

“Are you telling me that Robbie didn’t eat today?”

“Yeah, actually. I am. He just had milk. Is that a problem?” And he was actually serious – he didn’t know if that was a problem.

“Well… Did you eat anything other than milk today?”

“Of course. I had lun… Oh…”

And with that, my dutiful husband propelled himself off the couch with surprising speed and ran into the kitchen. He did shout back to me, asking where the peanut butter was. He managed to find it in the same place we’ve stored peanut butter for the past four years. I’ve never seen a meal thrown together with this much speed. In about 90 seconds (after a few minutes delayed for the great peanut butter hunt), Robbie was buckled into his seat and chowing down on a peanut butter sandwich, some cheese, and an orange.

I have never seen Robbie eat so fast (or with such accuracy). Usually, some of the food winds up on the floor or given to the dog. And all of this made Justin feel even worse, which I appreciated. I’ve learned a valuable lesson from all this, too. I will leave detailed directions for Justin when I go to Montreal next month (please note that I specifically told him what to feed Robbie and when before leaving for lunch). But I’m still a little concerned…

On another note… I’ve started a Facebook page for the blog. I’d love it if you became a fan! And feel free to click on any of the ads you see on the page. It really helps me out. 🙂

So… Today is my birthday. And. It. Was. Fabulous. The perfect day, from start to now (’cause it isn’t finished yet). Robbie (and the dog and the husband) let me sleep until about 7:15. I woke up to a happy baby babble and listened to it for about fifteen minutes until my bladder propelled me out of bed. I stood at the door for a few minutes, watching Robbie through the crack. He spied me after a few seconds and played peek-a-boo.

We had breakfast and opened some presents and cards. Justin got me a very thoughtful necklace. I almost cried when I opened it because I could tell all the thought he had put into it. If I spelled it all out for you, it would sound corny and cliche. And it was. Perfectly cliche. He bought me a necklace with a Hershey Kiss pendant; whenever we close our emails, we sign them “Kisses and Love.” And now I will always have a “Kiss” with me. See? I told you it was perfectly corny and cliche.

We went to the Boston College game with some fabulous friends and, responsibly, left Robbie and Jack with a trusted babysitter. Trusted and very, very brave. Elena had both boys for nine hours. And she bathed both of them. And had them both asleep when we came home at 7:30. If you need her number, let me know. She is amazing. I don’t know that I (mother-of-the-year that I am) could have handled two kids (one 16 months and one 18 months) for that long.

The game was really great – at least the second half was! And it was a game right down to the end. Like the last play. And, in honor of my birthday, BC won. Fabulous!

We made our way back home, and went to …Cakes, where Amy picked up an amazing birthday cake for me. I think this store may be my new addiction. Cupcakes. Muffins. Coffee. Calzones. Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. Then it was off to Tango for steak and sangria. And more sangria. And birthday cake. And a great combination of friends. I sometimes get nervous introducing people from different aspects of my life, but it worked out perfectly. It was good timing, too, since Amy an Allie are both going on the girls’ weekend to Montreal in three weeks.

We came home to my second floral delivery of the day. The first was from my mother-in-law, who sent me a gorgeous fall bouquet. My neighborhood florist had delivered these (from my fabulous brother) on her way home. It’s so nice to be friends with the florist around the corner. She called to make sure someone would be home to get them.

So now, with sangria making my fingers move quickly (if not accurately) on the keyboard, I’m going to sign off and enjoy the last four hours of my birthday.

This time last year, I was (admittedly) a little panicked about turning thirty. I tried to cram in doing things one more time while I was in my twenties (“This is the last time I’ll go to the gym in my twenties,” “This is the last time you’ll kiss me in my twenties”…). After all, our twenties are when so much of life happens. It seems much more defining than the first two decades. For me, it was really when all of my major life events happened: I graduated college, I finished grad school, I got my first “real” job, I met Justin, I moved to Georgia, I got engaged, I got married, I moved to Boston, I got laid off for the first (and, please God, only) time, I got into Boston College, I got pregnant, I had a baby. It was a pretty busy decade.

And I’m sitting on the couch in my freshly cleaned house (mostly because I was going crazy searching for tomorrow’s football tickets, which were, incidentally, on the floor of the closet; I should have asked Justin four hours earlier than I did), doing a little reflecting on the past year. I don’t know that there have been that many “defining” moments, but it’s my favorite year so far. There was the time I spent appreciating my family and relishing the quiet. Finishing up grad school (surely for the last time) and walking at my graduation. Getting a new job, my dream job. Spending four weeks in Lexington over the summer. Swimming at The Res when Justin got home from work. Running my first 5K.

Maybe my twenties were just the foundation. I know they say, “Life starts at thirty.” There were so many wonderful things before thirty that shouldn’t be discounted. But, you know what? I don’t think I’d go back to twenty-nine for anything.

And, since I know you’re dying to ask, yes. There is one thing that I want to do before I turn thirty-one. I’m going to finish the damn stocking that’s been in my grandmother’s sewing box half-completed for five years. Just have to sew the back part to the front part, and I have 96 minutes to do it!

But before I go, you should all know what a thoughtful husband I have. He started celebrating my birthday weekend early with a dozen roses. I hope you are all so lucky in love!

Robbie had to stay at daycare late tonight. Super late. 7:30 late. I haven’t gone that long in the day without seeing him since I was taking classes last spring. I rushed all the way from Lawrence to get there, even though I knew he would be asleep. And he was. Zhining was waiting for me, so I didn’t have to ring the doorbell. She slowly opened the door to the room where Robbie was sleeping, and we peaked in on him.

Robbie rolled over and briefly opened his eyes. He slowly closed them. And then quickly opened them. If he was coordinated to jump to his feet, that’s what he would have done. He ran to the side of the crib with an award-winning smile on his face. It was one of those I’ve-been-waiting-to-see-you-all-day-and-you’re-finally-here smiles. I picked him up out of the crib and he threw himself at me. Then he pulled back from me and just looked at me, a slow grin spreading across his face. He touched my cheek like he wasn’t really sure I was there and then hugged me again (Cuddle Baby is really working!).

I’m not saying that I would want to have Open House every week. But, it was nice to be gone long enough for Robbie to really miss me. Usually when I pick him up from daycare, he opens the door, looks at me, and runs the other way. But not tonight. Tonight, I was the one person he wanted to see. And, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.

As you may have guessed, Robbie does not have any tolerance for cuddling. He’s down for kisses because they are quick and he can be on his way. I also thinks he gets a kick out of how kisses sound. But hugs? Forget about it. They require actually stopping what he is doing. He can kiss and walk, which is acceptable.

I, on the other hand, have always dreamed of having a baby (err… little boy) who loved to give hugs and cuddle. So, being a mom who likes to conform others to fit her expectations, I have begun training Robbie to cuddle with me. How? (I know you’re out there! The other moms with kids who don’t want to give hugs) Easy. I made it a game that involves rapid movement, one of Robbie’s favorite things.

I started a few days ago hugging him close to me, saying “Be a cuddle baby!”, and swinging from side to side so his legs bounced around. There are a few key things here. First, it was important to hold him close the way I always pictured my little boy hugging me (you guessed it: head on my shoulder). This way, he knows what to do when I say the trigger word (can you tell I’m the one who trained the dog?). This leads me to the next point: you need to have a name for the game. For us, it’s “Cuddle Baby”. This lets Robbie know what he should do when you say that word. Kind of like he’s figured out how to bow when Zhining says, “Thank you” in Chinese. And, finally, I swing him from side to side because he thinks it’s hilarious. That way we both get something fun out of the experience.

Is it possible that this actually works? Yes. Well, most of the time. There are times when Robbie is too busy to even think about Cuddle Baby. But then there are the times that he thinks it’s fun, and I love that he leaves his head on my shoulder for a few extra seconds after we finish playing. Soon enough, he’ll be crawling into my lap to cuddle while we read books together… Right?

Justin worries that Robbie doesn’t miss him when he’s gone. Robbie doesn’t always look up and come running when Justin walks in the house. After all, sometimes a toy that lights up and plays music is more exciting than a dad walking up the stairs…

I’ve been trying to convince Justin that this is not true, that Robbie does really miss him and love him and know exactly who he is. But, what do I know? I’m just the mom who listens to the kid say Dada every day Justin’s gone. I’m just the mom who watches Robbie lift up the sheets and look for Justin.

The proof came today. I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready when Robbie came running down the hall with Justin’s shirt in hand, gleefully yelling, “Dada! Dada! Dada!” Now if only I’d caught this on video for real proof…
http://www.youtube.com/get_player

I’ve been waiting for this phase for quite some time, and I think it’s finally here. That’s right. It looks like Roberto is in the repeating phase. In the past, when I asked him to say a word, he just laughed and said, “Da” (is this as irritating to other mothers as it is to me?). It occurred to me that this must have changed when Zhining told me she was teaching QiQi to count. I nearly did a double-take. This kid just says ma, da, dog, cat, ball, light, and (how could we forget) hi. But, as usual, she proved me wrong. Zhining called out, “Yi” and my child looked up and called out, “Er”.

So, I figured I would try this out with Robbie over the course of the evening. We tried out car, cheese, and, much to Robbie’s delight, cookie. I’m sure he has no idea what they mean really. He just enjoyed the sounds. There’s one that I know he does understand. But it’s a strange one. One I’m not sure I should admit that my kid knows. He knows what sound a fish makes. How? Well, every night he feeds Jake the Fish (he figured out how to shake the food over the bowl awhile ago and has to feed Jake the Fish every night before he’ll go to bed).

Since we got Jake the Fish, I’ve been making fish noises whenever he eats. Partially because it entertains me and partially because Robbie gets so tickled. Tonight, when Jake the Fish grabbed a flake, Robbie looked at me and, with a huge grin on his face, yelled, “Gulp!” I have a feeling I’m going to have to watch what I say much more carefully.

And in other big boy news… I discovered that Robbie’s streak of independence has extended to the Halloween candy I thought was hidden. He came into the kitchen waving a Tootsie Roll pop. Since it was wrapped, I didn’t think much of it. Until he came back to show me that he’d gotten it unwrapped and he was enjoying it. I’m just not ready for this… Talking? Sneaking his own candy? Can I just have my baby back?