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The Life of a Nomad

December 6th, 2006

We are still not living at our house.   We “moved out” last Friday so that the construction crew could essentially “move in.”   The dust was getting to us, the chaos was getting to us and Kenny was starting to become a little too attached to the vacuum in my desperate efforts to keep things clean.

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You have to understand, this was supposed to be a quick and easy minor renovation.   This was supposed to take a few weeks, maybe two months tops.   But it’s been going on since September, and last time I checked, it was already December.   It’s not our foreman’s fault; he is a gem of a contractor, kind and considerate, hardworking and attentive to detail.   The fault lies in the fact that our house was once a summer cottage, and through the years has been added on and altered by at least a dozen different owners.   Not all of them were apparently eqipped for this, as is evidenced by this artifact we found buried in a cinderblock wall in the bathroom we gutted:


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(Do you think we could put this up on Ebay??)  

 All complaining aside, we have been amazingly blessed with the generosity of our families in taking us in.   We stayed for three nights with my parents (who are also housing my sister’s family during their renovation) and we are currently staying with Casey’s Aunt and Uncle, Dorrie and Charlie.   Not only did Dorrie and Charlie take us in, crazy weimaraner and all, but yesterday morning, Dorrie spent some five hours taking care of Kenny while I snored in bed, trying to get rid of the sinus infection / flu / laryngitis that has overtaken me.   And Kenny was happy as a clam when I finally pulled myself together enough to venture into the living room.   She taught him new songs, as well as how to march!   Thank God for sweet Aunts like Dorrie!   Kenny is also quite taken with Charlie, and can say his name quite clearly.   The biggest treat of all, though, was that yesterday his Gramma Ruby and Papa George showed up, on their way up the coast from Florida!   Kenny practically shivered with excitement when he saw his “PAPA!” walk through the door.

So life as a nomad isn’t that bad.   We will definitely be glad to be back at our house tomorrow, but it has been fun to spend extra time with family.   Kind of like an extended Thanksgiving, right?


Wrestling the Twenty-three Pound Wiggler

December 2nd, 2006

Yesterday I mentioned that Kenny has a talent for transforming his 23 pounds into more like 50 when he wants to.   Imagine a frantically writhing fourteen-month-old who has no fear of aiming his head, torpdo-like in a dive, twisting his body and throwing his entire physical force down to the floor when he wants to WALK and not be carried somewhere.   Or transforming into an octopus when it’s time to get him dressed in the morning.   Or scatters away like Spider Man during a diaper change, clinging to the edge of the bed and giggling wildly at foiling Mommy again.  

Do I sit on him?   Duct tape him to my waist?   Or do I calmly and cheerfully allow his antics and label them “highly energetic and creative?”


The Sound of Silence

December 1st, 2006

This renovation is starting to make me sick.   Literally.   In fact, I’ve completely lost my voice, as a result of the mountains of dust floating through  the air.   No amount of vacuuming or dusting seems to help, and even Kenny has developed an irritated cough.

Laryngitis is never a picnic, but imagine trying to explain to your one-year-old son why you can’t sing or read or even talk to him.   Today we moved into my parents’ house for a few nights, and during the car ride over, Kenny kept calling, “Mama?   Mama?” and I couldn’t answer.   During our playtime today, I couldn’t sing when he kept asking for “Row Row!” and I couldn’t make the sounds to read “Swim Duck, Swim!”

So aside from feeling like my vocal chords have been ground into sausage, and aside from the fact that I can’t yell, “Dudley, drop it!” when the stealthy canine trots by with Kenny’s sippy cup in his mouth, all is well.   Kenny continues to develop into more and more of a little ham every day.  

His  latest comedy routine involves torpedoing his wiggly body away when I’m trying to change his diaper, dress him, put his shoes on or wipe his face.   He can throw his   mere twenty-three pounds into a kinetic fifty, easy.   Today, while trying to change him on the bed, he writhed away, crawled to the head of the bed, stood up on the pillows and cackled triumphantly, bottom proudly and defiantly bare.   When    I lunged at him, he scooted  away with the finess of an eel.   I  nearly had to sit  on him to get the huggies firmly attached to his behind, and when it was all over, we were both covered with desitin.   Only then did he lay passively and sweetly, as if to admit defeat, and reach up to to touch my face and coo, “MaaaMeee.”

If only I could answer him back…

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