While his sisters attended camp during the morning hours this week, Jasper was subjected to my undivided attention. Which- on paper- he loves. But- also like paper- once he has it, he really, really doesn’t want it so much anymore. Let’s review.
Monday
9 a.m. The girls are at camp! 9:02 a.m. Whiplash from twisting around in car seat to find nonexistent, minivan-hiding sisters. 9:37 a.m. Check-in at Children’s Memorial Hospital for a mouth-related, pre-op consult. 9:38 a.m. FIND THE SISTERS- THE SORT OF THINGS THAT HAPPEN WHEN THEY AREN’T AROUND IS BOGUS, MAN. 11:45 a.m. Leave hospital, consume lollipop, decide morning was okay. 12:01 p.m. Slide tackle by Sister 1, chokehold/carry by Sister 2. Regret decisions.
Tuesday
Guilt-ridden mother, contrite over events of previous morning, takes youngest offspring to the Old Town neighborhood (her nanny days stomping grounds) to treat him to overpriced madeleine cookies, a strolling tour of Wells Street, and a toddler story hour at the Near North branch of the Chicago public library. New books are scored; apparati up the lip are not. Success. (The only potential negatives? Said mother wakefully poking said son in the leg during the drive back to camp, wakefully holding him upside down while retrieving said daughters, and wakefully singing loudly while returning home. Said son definitely fell asleep regardless, but it probably wasn’t restful or pleasant.)
Wednesday
After drop-off, ambitious mother turns to ambivalent son and declares, “You know what? I’ve never been to the Garfield Park Conservatory.” (Toddler boy mentally declares, “You know what? I’ve never been to the back row of this minivan. Don’t overshoot this day.” Is disregarded.) After an exciting 20-minute drive and an exciting 5-minute diaper change in the Conservatory’s restroom, the mother/son duo are ready to EXPLORE. And for about 9 minutes, they totally do. Then it’s all “please don’t eat the cacti.” “Can you not put your foot in that sculpture?” “The koi pond is not for swimming.” Age-appropriate tantrums ensue (all around). A sloppy picnic in a muddy field ensues, followed by an absolutely breathtaking moment where the toddler boy falls asleep in a relatively non-soggy patch of clover. So, so, so soon thereafter, Boy Child awakens, remembers the aborted koi pond mission, returns to being super said, is carried (upside down) to the minivan, falls asleep for the 17-minute drive back to camp, and springs- leprechaun-like- into the classroom containing his sisters. Slide tackle/chokehold/carry/rinse/repeat.
“I’m really gonna need you to stop following me.”
Thursday
As of 9 p.m. on Wednesday night, a bag is packed with a swim diaper, surf shirt, tiny pail, tiny shovel, aspirations to hit North Avenue beach in roughly 12 hours, and a flask. The flask, as of posting time, is empty. I repeat- THE FLASK IS EMPTY. (If that’s not optimism, I don’t know what is. Or maybe it should be half-full. I don’t even know where I live anymore.)
Friday
P.J. is rumored to be off work this day. I understand why he’d want to keep it secretive; I wouldn’t tell me where I was going either, I DRAG A TODDLER WITH ME AROUND THE CITY FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE. But word on the street is that I possess a gift certificate to a really, really great breakfast spot on the Near North side. Even with the Roo strapped to me like an angrily pointing joey, that’s some pretty good leverage.
Next week
Business as usual. And Jasper will probably sleep through most of it.
(Happy Fourth, everyone!)
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