Well, it's been an eventful week so far. And it's only Tuesday.
But before I get into all that, can I just say how tired I am of gale-force winds? What is it about this town, people? I know I've asked that before, but no one has given me an answer. What is going on here? Last spring our patio furniture blew into the neighbor's yard. A week or so ago Julia's sand table blew off the patio. Today we got home from an outing and our Rubbermaid box of outdoor toys--balls, frisbees, sidewalk chalk, plastic cones, sand shovels and buckets--was blown out of our yard, lid wrenched off, the toys scattered far and wide. Right now our new hanging baskets of flowers are flailing around on their shepherd's hooks, looking as if they're not long for this world. I just closed all the windows because the noise from the relentless wind gusts was overwhelming. It's like this several days a week here, and it just seems so...excessive.
OK, but so enough about the wind. We've been busy. Yesterday's trip up to Children's went fine, due in large part to the help of my dear friend Karin who met me at the hospital for help, moral support, diaper-bag hefting, stroller-steering, and baby-distracting. Genevieve cried very hard throughout the test, as was expected, but afterward she nursed, ate, and even gave Karin a smile or two before we headed back home. Unfortunately, even though she'd barely napped yesterday morning, she decided to take after her big sis and NOT sleep in the car on the way home (despite it being prime nap time--12:30 p.m.). Until we were six miles from home, that is. Naturally, after that ten-minute cat-nap, no more napping was done the rest of the day. Are you kidding me? I'm sure she felt that she'd just HAD her nap, people, so why would she sleep any more?
Speaking of Genevieve and (not) napping, she's resumed her quest to spend naptime sitting, crawling, and crying--rather than napping--with a vengeance. It seems that since becoming a crawler, she has decided she is morally opposed to LYING DOWN. It's just against her principles. And, you know, you can't really argue principles with someone.
This morning we girls went to a very exciting, very fancy tea party at the home of some friends. There were four moms, four preschool-age girls, and three (girl) babies. Everyone dressed up, the big girls decorated their own straw hats, we played games and danced, and our lovely hostess served tea (for the moms), chocolate milk (for the big girls), wheat toast, applesauce, and pureed squash (for the babies), plus loads of tea party goodies like cucumber sandwiches and scones. And then when everyone was stuffed and/or drooly and/or cranky and/or exhausted, we all left for home and naps, which in my house everyone is currently refusing; I don't know what's going on in all those OTHER tea-party-goers' houses. Lucky me!
But the tea party only happened AFTER Julia locked me out of the house, with Genevieve and her inside alone. Nice! A pre-party heart attack! Just what every modern mom needs! You see, the girls were just inside our patio door, and I stepped outside, closing the screen door behind me so Genna wouldn't crawl out to join me, for literally less than ten seconds, to adjust a flower pot. In those few seconds, Julia locked the door. And I didn't even know before then that she knew how to lock the door. Turns out, she does, but she doesn't know how to UNLOCK it. So there I was, outside looking at them, and there they were, inside and confused, and Genevieve started to cry and I started to panic and Julia didn't know how to let me in, nor did she understand what an emergency this actually was. ("No, Mama! I won't come over there and let you in! You stay outside! Mama, why are you out there? Mama, you should come in!")
In the end, I remembered that our dear sweet next-door neighbor had a spare key to our front doors, and though I hated to leave sight of the girls, I had no choice but to go and knock on her patio door. Thankfully, she was home. So we proceeded on our merry way, ready to drink tea and play games, while Mama recovered from her near-stroke. And now we are home. And no one is sleeping.