We returned from vacation with the usual lamentations about needing a vacation from vacation. As I wrote before, driving to the beach was the stuff of nightmares. Given that situation, we opted to try the “travel at night in the hopes that the children will sleep through it” approach on the way home. It didn’t work so well for the first half. It was just as hellish, only dark. The second half wasn’t as bad. But despite getting home and settled so late, don’t think for a moment that my children would sleep in the next morning. Hell to the no.
I’m hopelessly old fashioned in that I still get weekend newspaper delivery. It’s been a thing for me for years and years. During the week reading news online is fine. But on the weekend I want the black fingertips from cheap newsprint to smudge my coffee cup. It’s oddly comforting. At least it used to be. Until I had children.
I gave up on keeping Stella out of my paper long ago, replacing that absolute ban with the more moderate position of “you can have it when mommy’s done.” Now Felix gets in on the action. He doesn’t differentiate between the read and unread pile. He eats it all.
He gets along rather well now. At 7.5 months old, he crawls and has started cruising. He’ll be fully ambulatory by Thanksgiving at least. Being my second kid, he doesn’t always get the helicopter-style attention Stella did at this point. Imagine my surprise when I caught him gnawing on the window sill while I tried to read Dear Abby (or whatever the hell it’s called now). I didn’t worry until I saw flecks of paint on his chin. He has 2 whole teeth already and I’m fairly certain a 3rd one is popping out as we speak.
I used to make fun of über-sensitive environmental rules about lead-based paint based largely on risk-based standards developed for ingesting the stuff. Who lets their kids eat paint, anyways? Hello, negligent moms. How much Sherwin Williams did your child have for breakfast? I need to know because now apparently I walk among you.