Our living room floor is almost always covered with toys–usually some type of action figure of my four-year-old son’s as well as some random baby toys–and walking through it is like trying to step through a minefield. Sometimes there’s so much stuff scattered around that we just have to clear space, for instance, so baby G can use his walker. It’s all part of the general disarray of B’s enormous collection of toys. He will frequently ask me to help him find something–like all his Captain Americas–and I will use the opportunity to point out that if he were to put his toys up (man, I bet that’s annoying) we’d know where they were.
So far, it’s seemed to have little to no effect, but then randomly Monday evening we were sitting on the living room rug in the midst of the chaos when out of nowhere he said, “Let’s clean up,” and for the next few minutes–with me joining in–picked up all his toys, putting his action figures in the “men” bucket–“There’s an incredible investment of money in there,” I thought to myself–G’s stuff in his respective container, etc., until the living room looked almost pristine. Then it was off to bed for both of the kids. The next morning, it was amazing to come downstairs to a completely clean room. I briefly mentioned it to the old lady but then dropped the topic, not wanting to jinx whatever spirit had come over B. I just hope it returns.
Okay, G fought the bottle repeatedly and B had to skip his nap, but we survived. We even made it to a park–Monticello Trail–in the late morning where we played for an hour-and-a-half. For a full thirty minutes before we arrived, though, G cried and screamed, angry that he could not suckle from his mama, incensed that I was shoving this rubber nipple in his mouth. So what if it dispensed her milk?
When we got to the park he was still pissed but I was hoping that being pushed in the stroller would mollify him, and I wasn’t quite sure how much milk had already made it into his gullet. After 30 feet, B running ahead of me while I tried to keep tabs on him, I pulled out the bottle and gingerly put it in G’s mouth. He seemed to take it but milk was still spilling out the sides of his mouth. We continued this pattern, lurching 30, 40, 50 feet, then a little feeding, until we reached our destination, two hollowed out giant tree trunks laid on their sides.
I had brought a few of B’s toys–three Super Hero Squaddies–and he scooped them up and started playing while I stuck the bottle back in G’s mouth and he finally caved, sucking it right down. Glorious. His belly full, he then passed out and for the next hour B (and I) played, throwing his Squaddies through the holes in the old tree.
In the pic, B is about to lob Dr. Doom into one of the holes. If you’re wondering why he has no shirt on, when I first started feeding G at the park B ran over and said he had to pee so I told him to just do it in the grass and that he had to go by himself. He got his shorts down but didn’t lift his shirt all the way. That was hours ago, though, and now the kids are outside with their mama. As a result, I can sit back, sip a PBR, and rest up for tomorrow.