"Why oh why can't I?"
We've been running like crazy, but now that my syllabi are made, and I'm nearly done with the research for a presentation in a couple of weeks, you'll see a flurry of posts attempting to summarize the last couple months of summer vacation.
It's funny though, even as I write that time line--the last two months--and blame my lack of posting on work, because Big has ramped up his two-year-old-ness in a major way. And that has definitely contributed to the lessening of my degrees of freedom.
Between him and Eight, I am reminded of that Office Depot back-to-school commercial where the kids are moping around the store and the mom is skipping about grabbing school supplies.
Ahhhhh back to school.
Big has taken a reverse in his ability-to-exist-independently, not because he has no interest in being without me, and not because he is physically unable, but because he is so incredibly destructive. Destructive to stuff, himself and other people. My ears are now keenly perked toward any quiet in the house, and my eyes to any little gleam in his own eyes announcing some diabolical idea to throw, hit, climb, jump off of, open, close, swing from, pour out of, rip, or tear.
I never understood before (or cared really) about the degree to which each alcoholic drink lessens one's reaction time. But now I need to be at the top of my game just to keep up with him. If he's tired or hungry, that just compounds the issue.
So I guess that is why the following two incidents, which occurred at an upstate Minnesota Resort that we attended with the Family-of-Six recently, incidents that were really OUR own fault, not the growing and over-tired Big, and his increasing interest in speed, aggression and all-round adventure.
On one lovely evening, while the adults gathered in our semi-circle of chairs overlooking the lake for the requisite evening cocktail, the kids were running around, letting off steam, and getting ready for dinner themselves.
We had brought Big's Skuut, which goes everywhere with us now. It feels, to me, like a necessary appendage to an already overburdened Sherpa. But it makes him happy once we're where we need to go, and, as is always on our checklist of goals for any given day, it works to wear him out.
He's gotten better about being aware of the ends of sidewalks, driveways, and roads, etc., but often forgets to protect his main mode of breaking (his feet) with shoes.
Often he'll hop on, already gathering speed before I realize that he won't be able to stop himself without bloodying his toes, and head off after him, Crocs in hand.
On this particular occasion, I was pre-drink, but overestimated Big's ability to negotiate the terrain. He had headed off, and reached the top of a little downhill when he turned to see me coming, Crocs in hand.
With a shit-eating grin on his little face (and I know this is an over-used term, but it just fits his naughty, nothing-but-potential-grin so well), he turned away, toward the lake with ever more resolve.
I expected him to reach the sidewalk and the flowerbed below, and to hear screams from the stubbed toe he'd get from stopping himself.
Instead, I caught up with him in time to watch his front wheel bump up and over the end of the flower bed and his body flip up over the four foot wall to the beach.
Luckily, he escaped with only a bump on his noggin.
This was nearly not the case for some unsuspecting swimmers after Big's next "incident".
It is entirely possible that the owners will uninvite us to the resort next year.
It was our last day and BioMom and I had been imbibing in a couple of last-minute vacation beers, on which I blame my slow reaction.
Big was beginning to wind up, not having had a nap, and probably feeling all of our sad, end-of-vacation energy.
He ran over to the shuffleboard game and stole one of those big, clay shuffleboard pucks.
Before I could stop him, he flung it over a deck rail toward the pool deck a floor below. All I could do is run to the edge and warn people below.
Fortunately no one was hurt, but that's the sort of thing that wakes you up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night. Those what if's that you know would have sent your life splaying in a different dimension.
This is all to say that school starts for me next week. I'm back to my commute, but for only one semester. After two years of not commuting I'm of mixed minds on this. I'd rather not be away from home, but am looking forward to a night's break, listening to books on tape, and getting re-involved with a group to which I belong.