Human Jungle Gym, Part 2: A Happy Medium

Here’s Hubby’s latest approach to working from home with a toddler:

(If you missed it, here’s Part 1.)

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As you click through the slideshow, note Hubby’s concentration. Working through distractions is a learned skill.

That last pic is just for fun, so you can have your “Awwwww!!!” moment once you get a load of that kid’s eyes!

My final offering is in honor of fellow blogger, tref, because when I saw this pic, I was reminded of those I see of him looking at his restaurant food. I get extra points, however, because my sweater perfectly matches my deep fried matcha green tea ice cream, which was, by the way, delicious.

Thank you for reading. Which pic did you enjoy the most? Eat anything extra tasty lately?

Human jungle gym

Me to my husband: Why are you just sitting there and not getting your work done?

Him:

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Siblings: Before and After

Before:

Love, sweet love.

After:

Stylish hair gel

Isn’t my son so stylish with his new spikey hair gel look?

Cool kid.

Nope. It’s just

Covid pets

My children have become resourceful in their time of need. And boredom.

Snails in their new… terrarium, I guess?

Closer shot. They look happy. I mean, I think.

After gathering these creatures from the neighborhood, the girls are learning snail husbandry. Each snail is named and checked on daily. A chart has been made with dates, colorations, observations. “What snails eat” has been googled many times to be sure they are well cared for.

Then, several weeks in, lo and behold…

“Take turns fighting with your brother.”

Yet another thing I didn’t expect I’d find myself saying to my kids. (Along with “Is anyone missing their snake head.”)

While school was still in session, my daughters were having a hard time getting work done because their brother kept wanting to pool noodle light saber fight them. They tried to decline his invitation due to prior responsibilities, but he was having none of that schooling nonsense.

Where are they learning this?!

My younger two girls decided to dress as tourists, complete with hats, purses, and a camera. Interesting, I thought.

Then one gave me a bright smile and said, “We’re robbing a museum! We’ve got our ninja clothes on underneath.” She lifted her pant leg to show me her black pants. “We packed gloves to cover our fingerprints, and I’ve got ninja stars in my purse.”

The younger daughter pulled out a toy phone. “And I’ve got this to communicate with!”

They set toys up around the room to pretend to steal.

The Write Spot, Part 2

Last week I wrote about my failed attempt to get serious writing done at home. The following week, I decided to venture back to the library.

Instead of sitting in the back corner in the section marked “Silent Zone,” I found a more central area, not directly under the AC, that was, at least initially, quiet.

Then someone I couldn’t see carried on a phone conversation at full volume. Minutes later, a librarian, of all people, explained to a patron the organizational system of the book stacks at even greater volume. And finally, an older gentleman asked if the seat next to me was taken. When I said no, he responded, “Now it is,” and plunked down with a waft of week-old body odor, dropped his pile of newspapers next to him, then crinkled through them one by one, all the while taking rattling breaths that twice made me check to be sure he hadn’t actually fallen asleep and was snoring.

Mom, look what I can do!

Joe called me into his room after I’d put him to bed last night, asking for a drink of water.

Classic stall technique.

He also held up his finger and said, “Get rid of it.”

As it was dark, I fumbled to find the end of his finger, where, what I thought was a broken fingernail, was hanging off. I easily removed it and tried to throw it in the trash, but as it took several tries to scrape the sticky substance off my own finger, I asked,

“Is this a booger? From your nose?”

Though I couldn’t see his beaming face, I could hear it in his voice.

“I got it myself!”

The last time I removed a booger from his nose, I had to wrestle him into the corner of the couch and use the jaws of life to pry his hands away from his face. (How is a two-year-old so strong?!)

So I said, “That’s good I guess.”

As I left his room, thinking maybe I won’t have to struggle to evacuate his nostrils again, it occurred to me that I had effectively taught my son to pick his nose.

Yep. *I* did that.

Sigh.

 

The toddler and the baby

Little Joe was so sweetly and lovingly holding a baby doll, hugging and kissing it, I thought, “Awh, he’ll make a good dad some day, or perhaps big brother.”

Then he banged the doll’s head on the ground and yelled, “Ow!” Not once or twice, but three times.

Nice, baby. Niiiice. A few seconds before “Wham! Wham!”

Boys.