I’m not sure when or why it happened, but Robbie’s gait has changed. I noticed it this afternoon when we got home. Robbie got out of the car and took off down the sidewalk. He didn’t stop when he got to our house; he kept on running down the street. I have a feeling that walks around the block aren’t going to take an hour anymore, unless Robbie still stops to pick up every single leaf.

It’s like he’s gained a new confidence. He’s not shuffling around, unsure of his footing. Now, he’s sure of what he’s doing; he just wants to do it so much faster. So he is running everywhere. Down the street. Around the kitchen. Through the dining room. And back to the living room. The only way I know where he is is by the clomping of his little baby shoes. And then he pops his head around with a loud, “Hi!”

In other news… We’ve thought Robbie has had eczema. It’s spread to different parts around his body, and I’d love to get rid of it. The doctor recommended a hydrocortisone cream. Do any of you have suggestions? Or an idea about how long it should take for this to clear up?

Here’s hoping for a more exciting entry tomorrow!

Do you ever feel like you’re drowning in your own stuff? Everywhere you turn there’s something to trip over or pick up or dust or get the dog fur off of? Your closets aren’t safe to open and every drawer is so full you worry something might shift, causing the drawer to permanently stay closed? You have air conditioners hidden behind arm chairs because you’re too lazy to take them to the basement and there’s no room in the closets? Oh, that last one’s just me?

If I didn’t know better, I would say I was pregnant and nesting again. It hit me last night. And hard. My house is disgusting and needs to be purged. Do I really need the sippy cups whose lids were destroyed by Barkley three months ago? How about the tea that’s supposed to help nursing mothers? And the nine tins of hot chocolate from various holiday gift exchanges? What about the dog water bottle to use on walks that Barkley half-chewed two years ago? And the broken baby gate shoved in the closet? What kind of a sane person keeps these things?

I am done fighting a losing battle with my house. I started the purging tonight. I didn’t get too far, but at least I’ve started. The bathroom is clean and organized — at least until Justin finishes with his shower tomorrow morning. The kitchen cabinets are started. Robbie’s room is presentable (just don’t open the closet). But where, you ask, did I put all the excess? The only logical place. The dining room. The staging area for all disasters and unknown items. I’m giving myself through Friday night to get this house back in order.

Here’s my downfall: bags. Tote bags, larger purses, grocery bags. Even trash bags in a pinch. That’s where I put everything I don’t have a home for. And then I get frustrated with the whole project and put the bags into the closet, sure that I will sort through them one at a time. Which I do, the next time the closet gets so full that I don’t want to open it if Robbie’s within ten feet because I worry he’ll be buried in the avalanche of stuff.

Now, I’m a very organized purger. I have a list of everything that has to be done. Sample entries? “Empty linen closet.” “Empty Robbie’s closet.” “Empty nightstand drawers.” You can see where this is going, right? Being the good wife that I am, I warned Justin about the process and told him the house was going to look like a disaster for several days. And, being the brilliant husband that he is, he calmly replied, “How can I help? I don’t want you to have to do this on your own.”

Now, I know you. And I know you’re probably like me. When you get going on a cleaning frenzy, the last thing you want is your husband trying to help you organize. After all, if he did, you’d have no idea where anything was. And you won’t have any idea where he put his shoes when he can’t find them, even if he is the one who put them “away”. But, the point is, that he asked. And for that I am eternally grateful and further inspired to continue my cleaning spree.

Today was all about family time. It’s the first day Justin, Robbie, and I have had to spend together without any other commitments in weeks. And you know what? It was nice to have time just to catch up.

In the morning, we took a long drive to nowhere, seeing where The Great Road went. Turns out it goes to 495 and there are very few Dunkin Donuts once you get past Bedford. I’m still not entirely sure I get the whole “going for a drive” thing, but Justin really likes it. And Robbie and Barkley didn’t seem to mind.

This afternoon, we all took a walk to the park. At the playground, new signs had gone up saying unleashed doges were not allowed in the area. A seven-year-old yelled at us for having a dog. I guess he couldn’t sound out “unleashed”. For some reason, Robbie wasn’t digging the swings. Or the monkey bars (he usually hangs on and laughs). Or the slide. Especially the curling slide, either time Justin tried to put him on there. He was, fortunately, happy to sit in his stroller for 4.5 miles.

In a move signaling a further desire for independence, Robbie refused to eat ice cream Justin spooned for him this afternoon. The little prince would only eat ice cream he got out of the container himself with his own spoon. I have a feeling this kid’s going to have a stubborn streak in him. I wonder which side that came from…

A girlfriend and I went to the So You Think You Can Dance performance tonight. A.Mah.Zing. I so wish I could dance. But I’ll settle for the killer parking spot we got. Metered. Right outside the doors of the arena. Also qualifying as amahzing – just without the punctuation.

And now it’s late. Way past my bedtime. I was going to get up to run at 5:00 tomorrow morning, but that just won’t be happening. Instead, Robbie will have to suffer through the gym with me and cleaning the house will have to wait. I’ve decided to do a total organization of the house, since I feel like I’m drowning in stuff. But, more on that tomorrow when I’m less tired. Well, hopefully less tired. For now, I’ll leave you with a video of Robbie.

Oh, and in exciting news, I passed the 3000 page views for the blog today! Who would have thought people would want to read what I write? Pretty awesome! Thanks for reading! http://www.youtube.com/get_player

I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for weeks. Maybe even months. And now it’s over, even though it feel like it never really got started. My family has come and, unfortunately, gone. I have no idea where the time went.

When we’re younger we have endless days with our families. In fact, it seems as if they will never end. We will never graduate high school and get to leave for the freedom of the dorms. We will never graduate college and be able to really make all our own decisions. And then it’s finally time for a little family separation. I have had over seven years of this, and I was happy to go home twice a year and host my family once or twice a year. And then I had a baby. Now I can’t get enough time with my family.

We did so much this trip, it doesn’t seem like it should have gone by in the blink of an eye. We spent Friday in Maine, having lunch in Kennebunkport and shopping the outlet malls in Kittery. There was a walk on the beach Friday night with Justin and looking at all the stars we don’t get to see from Arlington. Saturday involved a 3.25-mile run, a nap with Robbie, a trip into Newburyport, a little lobster macaroni and cheese, and a terribly sad football game. Sunday was breakfast at Mad Martha’s, the craft fair at Harvard, a walk to the Charles with my brother, and a little time to start picking up the house.

And the airport run. It was finally official that everyone had left and the weekend was over when I dropped my little brother off at the airport. I’d held it together pretty well when I said goodbye to the rest of the family, maybe because I knew I will see them at Thanksgiving. But I won’t see Hunter until Christmas. He kept assuring me it was only two months, but I happen to know that it’s actually two months and fifteen days.

I didn’t realize the toll this weekend had taken on Robbie until I got home from picking up the dog at PetSmart (Did I mention that his grooming appointment was accidentally cancelled, which I didn’t realize until I called to check on his progress at 3:15? Not to worry… He’s clean and gorgeous!). I found Robbie passed out in his recliner in a diaper and a Star Wars t-shirt. I’m sure Justin was so proud.

As Hilary reminded me, there’s only 46 days until Thanksgiving. Here’s hoping we can make it.

One of the best parts of family time is my stepdad, Tom. You have to listen carefully because you never know quite what will come out of his mouth. We’ve been waiting all weekend for the perfect quote, and it came tonight while watching the miserable first half of the Kentucky game (it looks more like the Auburn game, but we’ll remain painfully optimistic until the clock runs out).

The announcers were commenting on how fast an Auburn player was, regaling the viewing audience with the tale of how this particular player bet some friends that he could catch a squirrel and then did. Tom, fed up with the game about five minutes into the first quarter, was not amused with the story. From the love seat, we heard, ‎”If you caught a squirrel in your hands, your hands would be chewed off by now. That’s a lie story.” This was immediately posted to my sister’s Facebook status and responded to with a picture of Matt holding a squirrel by the tale. His caption? “I guess I’m the exception.” Apparently, it is possible to catch a squirrel with your bare hands.

The most important part of this is that we now have a new catch phrase: lie story. When I think Justin may not be telling me the truth about something, I ask if he is being a “truth teller”. I think we’re going to have to change that. I’ll now be asking him (and Robbie, when he’s old enough) if they are telling me lie stories. I’m pretty sure it will be a hit.

Apparently I posted too early last night… The real fun happened when I went in the bedroom Robbie, Justin, and I are sharing. Something smelled amiss, so I went immediatey to Robbie. Upon inspection of the still-sleeping child, I discovered that he, the blanket, the sheet, and the mattress were covered in vomit. Milk, penne pasta, bread, and cheese puffs. And Robbie was still dead asleep.

We got him up. I immediately put the baby in the tub while Mom started cleaning the mattress. Robbie never cried; he just looked confused. After all, he had already taken a bath and was peacefully sleeping. He recovered nicely, though, and sat on the couch with us while his mattress dried. I’m a little concerned about this; I think he finally has proof that we do indeed do fun and amazing things after he goes to sleep…

After his bed was reassembled, it was time for sleep. For both of us. Robbie was fine while I had the lights on, but, as soon as I turned them off and plunged the room into darkness, he flipped out. Since everyone can hear everything in this house, I brought him into bed with me. I figured the best approach was to pretend to be asleep, but this led to having my nose picked… I opened my eyes to find Robbie’s face inches from mine, a huge smile on his face.

After a few minutes, Robbie put his hand in mine (I was using it to block entry to my nose), laid his head between my neck and shoulder, and cuddled up close. It was the most perfect cuddle moment of my life. And it lasted for two hours, until I woke up with my arm half asleep and a full bladder.

This was the first time Robbie has ever voluntarily cuddled with me. I’m really hoping he’s going into this phase. I could get used to hugs and hand-holding.

It’s finally here! That’s right, my four-day weekend. I am back in the world of personal days, and it feels fabulous. It was almost torture waiting for the clock to hit 3:07 this afternoon…

My family came up for our yearly pilgrimmage to Plum Island and, for the fist time since we move here, I am able to spend the Friday of the trip with them. I could feel myself start o relax as I drove away from Lawrence. By the time I crossed the bridge onto Plum Island, the rest of the world was far from my mind. Until I walked into the house.

There is a small loft area that overlooks the living room that has a slatted railing and a slanted roof. It’s the perfect play area for someone pushing 33 inches. Alledgedly, Robbie had been happily playing up there for an hour. I, however, have seen no proof of that.

As soon as I walked through the door, I heard him screaming. He seems to be getting a little too good at that. We went upstairs to get him, and he didn’t want to come out. But he continued screaming… I’m actually not too sure what to do about the screaming. I honestly can’t tell if he’s in some sort of pain from teething or growing or if he’s just being a brat.

We had the problem partially solved when I opened a bottle of water for him to drink. He nearly downed the whole thing. And at dinner, he practiced tossing penne pasta in the air with a fork. He’s a very adept food handler. And to think the server looked at me like I was crazy when I asked for the pasta without and sauce or butter. Could you imagine the disaster that would have been?

The childhood classic saved the day at the Manna house tonight. Not the written version. We had an emergency and had to rely on the television series. Yes, it was that bad.

I spent the night getting ready for my family’s arrival while Justin crammed for an exam tomorrow night. It should have been easy, leaving me with enough time to catch up on Private Practice and watch Survivor as it aired. Except it wasn’t. At all.

Robbie woke up around 8:00 and stood in his crib quietly until he saw me through the crack in my bedroom door; I was putting away laundry and hoping Robbie wouldn’t see me. He made eyes at me for a little while, giving me that sleepy smile of his that melts my heart. He even went so far as to lay his head on his arms.

And then all hell broke loose. For forty-five minutes. I have no idea what happened, but it was epic. It started with just regular crying. I finished what I was doing, hoping he would eventually decide to go to sleep. When he didn’t, I went down to get a bottle. By the time I got back, Robbie was out of control: whole body screaming. I tried to hold him on my lap and give him the milk, but he kicked his way to the ground, where he continued his screaming. Justin eventually came in and got the same result.

We thought maybe a change of scenery would help, so we took Robbie to our room. He refused to let any of us touch him, including Grover, who put herself right in the mix. We eventually took his pajamas off, but that did no good. A few times he threw himself at me and held on with a crazed madness I’ve never seen before. Then, as quickly as he’d thrown himself at me, he threw himself off, refusing to be touched.

So we did the only thing I could think of: we put on The Berenstein Bears. It took a few minutes for Robbie to notice it was on. It must have been my fabulous singing that got his attention (yes, I know the words to the theme song). I have no idea what he finds so intriguing. But thank God there’s something.

I still have no idea what happened with Robbie tonight. He wasn’t hungry or wet or in pain. Just very tired. And wicked upset. Oh, and did I mention that he’s still awake and it’s 10:40? I guess he’s staying awake to see Nona, Pops, and Aunt Hil, who should be walking through the door any minute.

I’d like to tell you that today was a better day, but I try to only be brutally honest with you. In the interest of full disclosure, let me assure you that it was not good. Well, except for the part where Justin came home and we actually got to spend some time together. That part was good.

We started the day with a 12:20 wake-up call from young Robert, complete with upper-register screaming. I changed his diaper and dutifully gave him a bottle of milk. I know, I know… It’ll cause cavities and all sorts of other horrible things. But, at 12:20 in the morning, I don’t really care. A bottle of water just isn’t going to cut it. Even the milk barely cut it. He started screaming as soon as it was finished. But, being the good mother that I am, I let him cry it out. He’d been changed, cuddled, and fed. His nose was wiped and the nightlight was left on. Eventually he went to sleep. I’m sure he’s a better child for it. Right?

My good fortune continued at Lawrence International High School this morning. Please note the dripping sarcasm… A student who had, bless her heart, only joined my class last Friday came up to me at my desk and whispered the most horrible words anyone could ever hear: “Miss, your pants are ripped. We can see your panties.” Now, the first offense was not what you would think; it was the use of the word panties. Just makes my skin crawl.

I was absolutely horrified. How do you not realize your butt is on display for the entire population of your school? And, to make it worse, I had no idea how long my pants, my new Eddie Bauer pants, had been deceiving me. Fortunately, I had my gym clothes with me at work, since I go straight to the gym after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. At the last minute, I grabbed a sweatshirt, which conveniently fit around my waist for the remainder of the period. You must be dying to know what I did for the rest of the day. I did the only thing I could do; I wore my black running pants. With my black sweater. And black beaded shoes. It was a hot mess.

Just to make sure you have the full picture, I checked out the rip on the pants. It went from about a third of the way up the back all the way to the front. The seam completely split. And, yes, the pants fit. I’ll be making a special trip to Eddie Bauer to get a new pair. And I’ll probably reinforce the seam. Or at least make sure I have a spare pair of pants in my drawer whenever I wear them…

Not much went right today. Not much at all. Robbie and I were late heading out of the house today, and it was pouring. So much for taking the time to do my hair and make-up. I managed to make it to work on time, without the help of my rear windshield wiper.

After work, I picked up Robbie and his best buddy Pete. Before going into daycare, I picked up all the items in the back of the car. Having just gotten the car detailed, I wanted to keep in clean. I stumble backwards, tripped over the cement, and tore my right thumbnail off on the door handle.

And then there was the ride home. They boys both sat in the back, glassy-eyed. We had to go to the car wash to get the rear windshield wiper repaired. When I got there, CJ, the manager, told me he wouldn’t be able to get the part and asked if I could come back. Are you kidding me? I took an hour out of my day to get this fixed, with two children in the back of the car, and it’s still broken? And it’s supposed to rain for the next two days? Great.

Robbie and I got home just in time for him to eat dinner, take a fast bath (poop free!), and head to bed. I was so frustrated with everything that I needed some exercise, but I’d had to cancel my run. Robbie is sick with a new cold and it’s raw and rainy out. I didn’t think that would be a good mix. So, after I put Robbie down, I went out to plant eleven mums. I have to have the house looking fabulous for the family’s visit Wednesday.

It took about an hour for me to get everything in the ground, and it looks much better. At least what I could tell from the dark. I came back in, ready to cook dinner. Except there was a screaming child upstairs. I felt horrible. He’d been quiet before I left, so I just assumed he’d fallen asleep. I have no idea how long he’d been crying, but the tear and snot factor was pretty high. I rocked him with a bottle of milk, and he’s still asleep right now.

I’m so exhausted from two bad nights’ sleep that it’s off to an early bed for me. Hopefully my child and the child next door will sleep through the night. I just need one night of not waking up to a screaming child…