Last night, post workout, DH and I were both in the pre-dinner hunger coma stage of things, trying to pull together tacos, while Bean was insisting on coloring and baking the Shrinki-Dinks (aren't they toxic or something?) he received in the mail from an aunt for his birthday, and Sprout was walking in circles (yes he's WALKING!!) wailing pathetically. He's cutting a new tooth, just in time for his birthday and he's a snot river and his usually happy-go-lucky personality has been somewhat diluted as a result.
So anyway, you can picture the scene right? Well. Then picture this: Me pouring Sprout a sippy cup of milk and in the split second (everything happens in those split seconds!) I turned to reach for the top, he reached up to his high chair tray and grabbed the full cup and proceeded to gasp and gulp and sob--but not tip the cup upright again--as he poured the entire contents onto his shocked little face. (I'm not used to him walking yet--and didn't even know he could REACH his high chair tray. Oh dear.)
I just stood there not sure if I should begin wailing myself, or laugh (I chose the latter.) He had milk in his ears, people. In his eyelashes, down his shirt. You'd think it had been an entire gallon--the way the floor was covered.
So anyway, I know I sometimes get kind of serious and poetic here and I wanted to make sure no one's getting any ideas that it's totally zen and serene here all the time. Because it is so not. (As I write, Sprout has pulled a basket of toys onto his head. NOTE TO SELF: Stop putting things on shelves to get them out of his reach!)
And also: please, please go take a peak at A Field Guide To Now and back this project! I get between 5-10,000 unique visits here a month--which means if you, brilliant, awesome readers would each go and back $1 the funding goal would be reached. It's all-or-nothing funding--which is a cool concept, but totally nerve-wracking at this point as I watch the number of days count down. (I want this more than anything.)
+++ PS: it's Sprout's birthday tomorrow. Can you believe that? A ONE year old. Sigh...