Rambling Imagination

Rambling Imagination

Know what this is? It is, according to my two year old, a tunnel. For his beloved choo-choo trains. Know what this is? A choo-choo train, of course. And what might this be? Not, as you might imagine, a mess for mommy to clean up. I was informed, with much excitement, “Yook, Mama – a twack!” (Look, mama, a track). For the car. The car that was his cracker. He had taken his straw full of milk and used it to “draw” a track for his cracker-car to go round and round in. Messy as it may be, my little one is reminding me of the power of imagination. I would say I am surprised by these little sparks of imagination, but my boy comes from a long line of wonderers. I’m a constant daydreamer. Hubby has a tell-tale face that means he is waist-deep in an ocean of thought. Brilliant things often come out of this thought ocean: sometimes sermons, sometimes ways to fix the broken things in the garage, sometimes a random argument in favor of him buying and restoring an old muscle car (Um, no). The Queen of Imagination was my Grandma Gladys. She used to make Brother, Sister and I go “rambling.” Rambling meant that we’d walk with her, along any little sidewalk, in a garden, beside the lake, or in the woods. I make it sound like we had these long hikes through nature. Nope. We were suburb kids and she lived in the city of Lakeland, FL. So most of our rambling happened on well-paved paths that looked a lot like culdesacs and mowed lawns. A few times, she dragged us on nature trails...
Time to rest

Time to rest

Sometimes we find ourselves repenting from our foolish ways as new parents. Our little man has had lots of ups and downs with this going to sleep thing.Yes, I rocked him to sleep for forever. And we are working (have been working) on him putting himself to sleep. The past few months have been pretty great. Then we had the season of travel and grandparents and we just lost our good habits. Which led to last night – the apocolyptic cries. It took Jake 2 hours to get him to sleep last night, while I was out at a women’s group. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then today. On fabulous days like Tuesdays, the boy goes to MMO in the mornings, comes home exhausted and sacks out pretty easily. Today, I was greeted by his teacher with what I can only understand now as a warning: “He had a great day. And he ate a cupcake; it’s Oliver’s birthday!” All righty. “He ate a whole cupcake?” I asked, confused. My little Ghandhi has been super committed to his very own hunger strikes for various injustices, like when I dare to present him with a vegetable or other insults such as a vanilla wafer. He has a point to prove, after all. Yes, he ate the whole cupcake. Hmm. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but as we came home and I realized it was not exhaustion I was seeing but a wild-eyed, sugar-induced frenzy. He’s had sugar before. We love a whole grain around here, but we’re not that granola. We just don’t do...