We went to the Zoo on Saturday. We almost died of heatstroke. Actually no really, we were fine, but it was ungodly hot and humid. I learned that the peacock is royalty. And I had the best of intentions when I brought with me a spray bottle of cool water (to spray down our hot babies), but instead looked like I was punishing a bad kitty every time I busted that sucker out (“I said get out of the plant! Squirt squirt!”). So I learned that next time maybe I leave the spray bottle at home, the zoo has those misting spray things for a reason.
Also Peter is not good at sharing his snacks; after sweetly offering to feed some strawberries to his life-long friend Jayson, he pulled the classic “Psyche!” move and yanked them away right before putting them in Jayson’s mouth. Then gobbled them up right in front of him. Nice. He didn’t learn that move from me I swear.
Also also: my son is afraid of carousels. He’s even afraid of the lame chairs that they set up on the thing for the ‘fraidy-cats.
So not afraid of the train, however. So we rode it twice.
So we were standing in the (loooooong) food line and I looked down at my kid happily playing with his sunscreen bottle (because, you know, fake lotion woooo everybody hold out your hands!) and anyway I had a total internal freak-out about OH MY GOD PETER’S AWESOME HAT, IT’S NOT ON HIS HEAD WHERE DID IT GO OMG. I scanned the ground and the crowd around us and then, I asked Scott twice if he knew where the hat went. Twice. He looked at me strangely both times and then ignored me. And only then did I remember that I put it on my own head when Peter threw it on the ground earlier OH YEAH HA I KNEW THAT. Except not really.
Scott and placed our order, and then we performed a dazzling piece of spontaneous performance art portraying new-ish parents in today’s society – trying to find a place to sit while simultaneously juggling two plates full of food, two beers, plastic-ware, a stroller, a kid, a diaper bag, giant purse, sippy cup, the camera – and me also balancing a teeny hat on my head.
Once we got ourselves seated in the grass Peter made a break for it, but Scott caught him before he could find himself a new, normal set of parents.
Sunday my cousin Mike from Wisconsin came by for a visit. He’s traveling around the plains enjoying several sporting events (off to the College World Series after us) and even though I packed my camera in my bag, I did not take even one measly little image. Clearly I suck. Mike took off this morning, continuing on his adventures, and we wish him the best. Thanks for stopping by to hang out!
Doose. Doose. This is the word that is heard the most these days, Pete’s combination of “this/those”. It involves several emphatic points at the “doose” – generally a snack or treat, something food related, although it is used for most anything he wants really. Mainly snacks though, because let’s be honest, our kid is a bottomless pit.
“Doose?” he’ll ask sort-of hopefully, pointing, even after being told that no, you just had approximately 15 snacks in a row, you’re done. There may be a body flopping to the floor in anguish at this point or maybe a shriek in response, but undoubtedly more pointed requests for “Doose” will continue, all responses of ‘no’ ignored. And then, just when you think he’s given up, JUST TO CLARIFY ONE MORE TIME, THE VERDICT ON THE SNACKS: “…Doose?”. Sigh.
PSA of the Week: I don’t recommend ever letting your toddler see you watering the plants. Because you’ll never be able to do it yourself again. The best part is when your kid grabs the EMPTY watering can and so he jabs the pot repeatedly with it, in an effort to eek out some water. Effectively stabbing your plants to death.
FIN. See you next week.