Kerbang, Kerboom
It was all pretty perfect, right up until the end. The weather was marvelous, we spent quality time with several groups of good friends, we were both productive and relaxed (hallelujah), we scored some good deals, worked on some fun projects, drank some yummy drinks, and did a fair amount of pool swimming, flag waving, cupcake eating, and sunscreen slathering. And then this happened:
I was taping because instead of napping he was in there singing the alphabet song to himself (when he gets to the end he cheers "Yaaaaaay!"; adorable), but then...OH MY GOD DID YOU SEE THAT WHAT TERROR HATH BEEN WROUGHT IN TODDLERVILLE, and I wish I'd left the camera running as I dashed to his room because what I found was an eighteen-month-old BABY perched on the crib rail, happy as a bird on a wire, all "oh hai" in response to my recreation of Edvard Munch via interpretive dance.
As I'm sure you can imagine, I have thoughts about this turn of events--yes, many thoughts--but let us freak the heck out about that another day (we have a stop-gap in place, plus advice from Daycare Lady, which...I don't know...let's just say it involves a putting Wombat to sleep in a pillowcase knotted at the shoulder and...actually, that's not just the jist of her plan, that is the plan), and instead let us reflect on the non-heart-clenching portions of Independence Day weekend, 2010.
That's at a friend's house for a Saturday barbecue. The only thing Wombat loved more than the ribs in sauce was picking plums while sitting in the kiddie pool. This is the toddler version of sitting poolside while someone feeds you peeled grapes (or brings you daiquiris and guacamole), only better because with the swim diaper in place he didn't even have to take bathroom breaks. By the end of the afternoon, he had perfected the art of conspicuous consumption in picking a plum, taking a bite, throwing it on the ground, and then picking another, rinse, repeat.
As for we grownups, we relaxed with two batches of fresh lemonade, mintastic pomegranate mojitos, greyhounds, and bourbon slushies, which, my god, it's the polygamist marriage of all my favorite drink ingredients, the result of which is basically a whiskey sour Slurpee. Why 7-11 didn't think of it first is...well, yes, I see how that would be a problem, nevermind.
(Despite the wonky angle of this photograph, they're not actually as boozy as they taste.)
On the 4th itself, we had a lot to live up to after last year's show-stopping vintage velvet sailor suit at the Alameda parade, but we managed okay, squinty stinkface excepted. (Hey, it seems to work for the perpetually scowly Kristen Stewart.) Again with the generous friends and the amazing food and a backdrop that had people in the parade stopping to ooh and ahh at our hosts' roadside set-up.
And then we napped and then we swam and then we had another barbecue and then we popped our Peep Show cherry and then we came home and tried to figure out what to do with our baby, whom, we were reminded, could climb out of his crib, which is exactly what he did about two minutes after we put him down; we had honestly forgotten about his new "skill" until he came wandering out of his room in his stripey red-white-and-blue footy pajamas all "What?"
"What" indeed, my little friend. I have MANY THOUGHTS on this subject, that's what.
(More photos here, of course.)
AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHH!
So ... what's your stop-gap? I must know.
(Also, I need to know where you got that super-wide-brimmed hat, because we need one, and I can't find one that fits her damn head.)
My friend had a crib tent thingie on her daughter's crib. Her daughter lived in the crib with the roof until she was two and a half.
My parents just bought me a twin bed and yelled at my older brother for having taught me how to pole vault over my crib. If you're scared of a twin bed you could store the frame and just toss the mattress on the floor for him.
Aw. Like Ramona Quimby, who knows that the first bite of fruit tastes the best.
Wish I could go back 5 years and try that pillowcase idea. Houdini/my son was always sneaking out of his crib.
Good luck!
I fear this day like no other.
It has begun. *cue horror-themed music here*
I think we spoil our daughter on this a bit. She has no interest in getting out of her crib herself- not when she can just beckon one of her minions to remove her.
The pillowcase is just the poor man's sleep sack, no? They do make them in summer weight I believe, and I've seen many patterns for them, one out of a man's shirt.
I keep my nearly two year-old hobbled in a sleep sack for just this reason! I'm not living in fear of him making a suicide leap, nor am I trying to negotiate with a toddler to stay in a bed.
I have to say, was a little concerned about outgrowing the XL sleep sack and was seriously considering the $80 crib tent. The pillowcase is GENIUS! (but it does have a slightly hillbilly feel to it...)
Ah ha ha ha! Trying not to point and laugh and thanking my lucky stars H has not yet figured it out.
The main reason I didn't do sleep sacks past the time they could sit up and crawl was mostly because it would freak me out if someone did it to me. =)
Oh, man, that video terrifies me.
We were all set to enjoy the Alameda parade for the first time, but then at the last minute Cris's job insisted he walk in the parade. In that sun. With all those people watching. I, of course, chose to glump around at home instead because I am a big baby. But I swear I would have done it if one of those bourbon slushies were waiting for me at the end!
Peep show is the best, love a great Brit comedy. I can't help but love both Mark and Jez for veeeeery different reasons! My reliable facebook sources told me this week that series 7 is going to start filming soon. So excited!