Monday, December 13, 2010

Climbing Cinderella

Eileen is a climber. Not like a 2 year old climber, but like a monkey climber. She can flip herself up to any chair, shelf, or stool. I was looking for her the other day [in our 1056 square foot apartment] and could not find her. I leaned under the table and did not see any 6-12 month feet.... because they were not on the ground. She had climbed up the bookshelf trying to reach God knows what. I, being mother of the year, snuck up behind her, clapped my hands really loud and said, loudly, (okay, screamed) "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO M'AM! NO M'AM! WE DO NOT CLIMB ON THE BOOKSHELF."

She got down, turned around, looked at me and started crying. However, she has not taken a fancy to climbing on it since.

 She still climbs on the oven. The oven that has no knobs for the stove because she can reach them. And the table. She hits her head on the glass above her, but has not gotten the irony of the glass ceiling like I have. She climbs into cabinets. Well, hold on... she pulls everything out of the cabinet and flings it around the room... then climbs in the cabinet and shuts the door. We are working on, "Daddy's gonna kill Ralphie." ... but, so far, all we have is, "Da-DA?"

 Did I mention she pulls everything out of the cabinets? Last week, one of the last times I left the apartment before the cold set in, we were walking along and I looked into the bottom of her stroller to find the following items: -Le Creuset lid, -cusinart mixer bowl, - 2 cups, -a right shoe.

 Which brings me to something very important to share... I am starting to call her Cinderella because she cannot keep up with both shoes. Right now, we have far more right shoes than left. She has taken to taking them off and throwing them, hiding them, or otherwise disposing of the left shoe. 

Speaking of hiding, Will and I both lost our licenses for longer than I should mention. No big deal as we don't drive anywhere (I get lost and Will doesn't have time to make car journeys) and the bars know that the idiots with the baby are, obviously, of age. So, I was vacuming the other day and needed to move the rug. Well, underneath the rug I found my comb, our licenses, a debit card, a coaster, and a business card for some lawyer named "Yahntz." So that's where they were....

Enough about my child, how about my husband? Well, I sadly do not have much to report on him, except he is working his ass off. He worked a lot as a resident, as you all know, but that was like second gear compared to what he does not. He works (note the word 'works') from 6am to 5ish. That means he gets up around 515am to leave the house by 531, to get to the shuttle by 558, to take the shuttle to arrive before 615. To work. When he is on call, he will work all night long (no sleep) and then come home around 1pm the following day and die until about 6. Eat dinner, play on his computer, hug Eileen and give me a little drunken conversation (not from alcohol, from lack of sleep) before nodding off again about 830-9. Good news, he gets to go back to the hospital the next day. Even better news, next month is going to particularly hard, according to the worker bee. So, he'll need to be AT the hospital by 525 and won't get home until after 7. Unfortunately, the first shuttle does not leave until 6. So, he gets to take the bike to work. In January. In the morning. In the snow. Uphill. Without a helmet.

What? You thought being a doctor was just all work and no play?

And now, me. She who has no MDO, no childcare, and an increasing tolerance for wine. Eileen and I do a lot of yoga and those earthy people are ding bats.

ding bats.

Seriously, I cannot fathom the medicinal or confidence building aspects of not shaving your pits. There is no hygiene in that. Legs-- I get it. You're lazy. It's cool. But, come on, your pits? You probably don't do much hedge work either (of course, of all the places I neglect... the hedges are the first). And, don't fool yourself. Your baby can't do yoga. They can run around. They can put their head on the ground, but it is not downward facing dog (or downward facing puppy as we call it in the Cagle household). Don't try and make them. 

Earthy people crack me up. The guilt they carry from using plastic bags to the organic toilet paper made from trees who were anesthetized before being chopped; please don't think I am exaggerating. There are markets here that cater to them... with a price tag to boot.

Fenging and Sheuing are two things I will probably never understand.

Right, I digress... so, I'm doing yoga and trying to find some inner peace (when I'm not laughing at the hairy women who "OHM" before they "namaste") and knitting to keep my idle hands busy. I am not great at either, but am working to broaden my horizons.  

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