Fourteen months ago today, Hubs and I held hands at a hospital in Rival Town, USA and embarked on a new adventure in our lives.
Specifically, the adventure included never getting to sleep in ever again, because the main source of our adventure is the individual who gets morning people out of bed.
Also? Well, Thing 2 has apple trees outside his bedroom window, and those trees are heavily laden with an extended family of robins. There’s Grandpa Robin, and Great-great-great grandmother Robin, and Teenage Robin who was just a blue egg last spring. Mostly, we’ve adored those birds. I say mostly, because Cats 1 and 2 sit in the bedroom windows and plot and plan for Total Bird Annihilation through a well-thought-out black op. They also act like a couple of kitties who have just had their noses in the crack pot, because they’ll sit there and CHIRP at the robins.
Yes. I said that our cats chirp. Clearly, they’re as dysfunctional as we are, but they’re determined to make contact with the birds just on the other side of the window screen.
These days, though, the biorhythms of the birds are disrupting the natural sleep pattern of Thing 2. The birds start their high-pitched yapping around 4:45 in the morning, and Thing 2 just sits right up in his crib and hollers out, “The mother is telling her husband to go find her a worm, and he’s yelling back that he found the worm yesterday, and she is calling him a lazy, good-for-nothing who is going to lose out on the prime worms if he doesn’t get his act together!”
Thing 2 keeps us updated on all the family dynamics, both good and bad, in the Robins’ household.
The problem with this is that the boy sleeps through the birds’ conversations, because the boy can sleep through foghorns, air horns, tornadoes, fire alarms and nuclear explosions. A family of birds can’t reach a decibel that penetrates the sleeping brain of our firstborn. Our bedroom is on the opposite side of the house, so we don’t hear the Robin family in the morning.
But what we DO HEAR is Thing 2 and his morning update on his neighbors.
Which makes me kind of want to shoot the robins, one by one, out of the tree. I’m even thinking I could actually perform this dastardly deed all by myself, with very little remorse. Either that, or I may just yank all those little nests out of the tree branches (those little nests that were so cute and heartwarming last spring), and tell them to look into real estate about four houses down, because they’ve been evicted for early-morning partying.
Thing 2 is officially fourteen months old today.
He celebrated by helping himself to a party-sized bag of Skittles candies out of our pantry, when no one was looking. He poured the already-been-opened bag all over the floor of our home office. He ate as many as he could, and then spent a considerable amount of time chewing a wad of eight mutilated Skittles before Mama found him and yelled, “Heaven, help me!” He was already dressed for church, in an adorable Old Navy outfit that we bought him in Bigger Town last week, and purple drool had covered the light-colored shirt.
For the record, the juice formed when saliva mixes with purple Skittles is a stain agent that makes red wine envious. This new outfit may be one for the “wear it to the mountains in all the dirt and the muck” pile, before Thing 2 even wore it outside of our house.
If it’s not blue paint, it’s purple Skittles.
I found another gray hair this weekend.
I no longer wonder why.
All messes and ruined clothing aside, Thing 2 brings a level of fun to our house that we didn’t know existed. Our boys shriek with happiness around one another, and they’re CONSTANTLY wrestling and chasing and running and flopping and throwing pillows and balls at each other. Hubs and I thought our hearts were full with just the boy in our lives; now our hearts are stretched to bursting with Thing 2 added to our family.
Of course, our house has never been dirtier.
And I’ve never been more exhausted.
And I’ve never worn pants to work and realized during my recess break that there is blueberry yogurt smeared all over the backs of them before.
But… all that aside… I think we’ll keep the little runt.
Happy fourteen months, Thing 2. Your family sure loves you!