Let Us All Eat Cake!

Hello, duckies!  Yes yes, still in Tucson, still awaiting the arrival of A., who is wearily slogging his way through work in the hopes that his office won't explode when he has to leave it on Friday.  This is like the trip that never ends, right?

But, oh, we are so grateful to be here today, for today is my father's birthday.  My dad is something of a grumpy old man*, with a grumpy old man's attitude about birthdays.  That is, he doesn't give a damn about them and could not care less if no celebration in his honor occurred.

Too bad he's married to my mom.

She makes sure there is cake and ice cream, party hats and balloons, and as many people singing "Happy Birthday" off-key as possible.  And this year, those people will include her, me and Cubby, my brother and niece, my sister and her fiance and their daughter.  That's a lot of people to butcher "Happy Birthday."  Also a lot of people to eat cake, which is why we're making two of them.

I get my prodigious appetite for cake directly from my parents, as you can now see.

If you would like to eat cake on my father's behalf, I'm sure he would be most pleased.  Or not.  Hard to say.  But it would probably please you, so go ahead, in honor of my dad.  You're welcome.

*  Luckily, a grumpy old man with a fine sense of humor who doesn't take offense at public teasing.  Uh. Right, Dad?

A Matched Set

The appropriate parties having been notified, I can now let you in on the Top Secret sex of Precious Cargo.  You ready for this?

I'm not sure I am.  It's a boy.

Yes, another boy for the family Blackrock.  Another tiny man who in ten years or so will probably be fighting with his big brother on an hourly basis and eating us out of the house.  I told A. he'd better make sure these boys know how to hunt at an early age.  Then all we have to do is teach them how to dress a deer or rabbit themselves and how to cook, and TA DA!  They can feed themselves.  Wouldn't that be nice.

Incidentally, despite the many of you who predicted or hoped for a girl this time, no one who knows us in real life is in the least surprised that we're having another boy.  Boys run in A.'s family.  His father had only brothers, A. has only (biological) brothers, and now A. is continuing the family tradition.

So now I can pull all of Cubby's old clothes out of storage for the next round of infant testosterone.  And think of another boy's name.  Damn.  Another boy's name.  Boy's names are hard, man.

Disappointing

If you are checking here in the hopes of some second-hand stories of terrible travel with toddlers, complete with screaming fits and meltdowns and the censorious stares of strangers judging my parenting skills, well . . . sorry.  That Cubby of mine has once again let me down in that way.  I have no stories like that.  He made it through a 4 a.m wake-up, two-hour drive to the airport, six-hour flight to Las Vegas, and an hour flight to Tucson with nary a tear.  There were nothing but indulgent smiles and fulsome praise from our fellow travelers.

God, I love that kid.

He even slept 12 hours the first night we were here, not waking up until 6:15 in the morning.  I, of course,  woke up at 3 a.m. anticipating he would be up and raring to go at any minute, but no.  He took a two and a half hour nap yesterday, went to bed at 7 p.m. and is still sleeping now at 5 a.m.

My parents are beginning to suspect that I drug him.  Since I know otherwise, I'm beginning to suspect he's a robot.

Robot or not, however, that kid gets a whole SHEET of gold stars for behavior.

Here I Go Again On My Own

Well, not entirely on my own.  The last time I took a trip on my own, it was REALLY on my own.  No husband, no son, nothing but me and my roller bag.  This time it's nothing but me, my roller bag, a thousand other pieces of overloaded luggage, and Cubby.

Note the conspicuous absence of A. from this scenario.  And then pray for me as I transport myself and Cubby cross-country on two different airplanes to get to Arizona.

This odyssey will be happening tomorrow.  Since A. really couldn't take a lot of time off from work around the time of my sister's wedding, I knew that unless I wanted to take a paltry four-day trip as a family--which is pretty ridiculous, considering the time, hassle, and expense of traveling that far--Cubby and I would be at least traveling out there alone.  And then I figured that if I was going to all the trouble of flying by myself with a toddler (while pregnant, and still kind of hobbly from back pain that will probably not be helped by those comfy airplane seats), then dammit, I was going to make it count.  So Cubby and I are going out a week and a half before the wedding, in order to get settled before the wedding festivities begin.  And, you know, play outside in a place that has no mud or clouds or any other of the unpleasantness that is upstate New York in late winter.

A. will be joining us the day before the wedding, and we'll all be flying home together the Monday following the wedding.  Which means I just have to get out there by myself.  With Cubby.  And Precious Cargo.  And lest you think I will have forgotten all about you in the post-traumatic stress induced by such a journey (me?  overdramatic?  whatever do you mean?), let me assure you that I will certainly be checking in with you in the next week or so, if only to let you in on the nature of Precious Cargo's precious bits.

Yes, we found out the sex yesterday.  But I'm not going to tell you yet (MEAN), because this is the one time I will have the pleasure of getting to tell my family some momentous news face-to-face.  This doesn't happen much when there's a three-thousand-mile distance between family members, so you're just going to have to wait until they know.  But soon we will end the suspense.  Will we add a precious Blackrock princess to the human menagerie, or will Cubby be granted a little brother to torment until the end of days?

Tune in to find out!  And send some positive vibes my way tomorrow, okay?  I'll probably need them.

Blow the Men Down

Hey, remember those sea shanties Cubby and I used to listen to all the time?  It just occurred to me we haven't listened to those in a really long time.  I should get that CD out.  I think he's old enough to learn the lyrics to "The Fireship" now, don't you?

ANYWAY.

This has nothing to do with what I was going to talk about, which was ALLELUIA, the goddamn wind has stopped.  The wind was blowing hard and constantly for about two days, and it was driving us all crazy.  The wind was joined by snow yesterday morning, meaning it was really, really unreasonable to go outside.  This, in conjunction with a 4:45 a.m. wake-up and no more than a 45 minute nap, meant that by the time we got to the late afternoon when the snow had stopped but the wind hadn't, Cubby was going outside come hell, high water, or gale force winds.

A. and I took him into the gully near our house.  We walked up the creek until we were away from the wind, although it was still lashing the trees above us in a most disconcerting manner.  After an hour of fun that consisted of keeping Cubby from throwing himself headlong in the freezing creek and giving himself hypothermia, we battled the wind home again.

The wretched wind stopped last night.  The sun is out and it promises to be a bright, calm day, if a little cold.  We'll take it.

The Amazing Child

Yesterday I had to take Cubby to the hospital to have his blood drawn for a routine lead test*.  I was not looking forward to this, as I am not so pleased to have someone shove a needle into my vein myself, and I could think of no good way to explain to Cubby why this had to be done to him.

After a quick analysis of Cubby's arm ("Great veins!"), the tech called in another lady to hold him while he sat on my lap.  The fact that they expected to need two adults to control one child made me even less comfortable with it.  The needle went in and Cubby gasped and then announced, "Hurt!"  At which point I started talking about how he would get to have a bandage like the goat that hits his hoof with a hammer (it's in a ridiculous children's book--don't ask).  And he didn't cry.  At all.  Not one tear, not a whimper, nothing after that first bewildered, "Hurt!"

The tech apparently had the wrong-colored tube for the lead test blood, or something, and had to switch out the tubes and thereby draw twice as much blood as necessary.  Irritating.  But even with the extended session with a big-ass needle stuck in his vein, he didn't protest at all.  When the tech handed him some Winnie the Pooh stickers after the bloody bit was over, he smiled at her.  When the other tech gave him a stuffed duck for being so brave, he said thank you (after a prompt from me, I must admit).  After some more remarks on his pretty lips and adorable face and incredible stoicism, we left the newest members of Cubby's fan club and came home.

This happens everywhere, with everyone he meets.  He is such a remarkably, unbelievably good child.  I mean, sure, we have unhappy moments and tantrums and inconsolable spates of tears, but they are few, short in duration, and confined to home.

I don't know what I did to deserve this child, but I am so, so grateful to have him.  And already bracing myself for the fact that I will pay for this good fortune with my next child, who will undoubtedly be hell on wheels.  Oh well.  At least Cubby broke me into motherhood gently.

* As a meaningless but nonetheless entertaining aside, talking of lead always reminds me of this scene in the movie Tommy Boy.  Please excuse the terrible video of some dude's television, but it's the only one I could find.

A Day to Remember

We had a big day yesterday.  It started with A. going outside at 5:30 a.m. to fire up the evaporator in preparation for more sugarin'.

Well, actually, it technically started with me getting up at 4:45 a.m. so I could take a shower, but that's not at all memorable, so let's move on.

Jason arrived at 6:45 a.m. and Cubby demanded to go outside.  Cubby is a big fan of Jason's.  What's not to like?  The man drives a truck, provides us with fish, and is associated with maple syrup.  These are all positives in Cubby's book.


So we went outside to pay homage to Jason.  A couple of hours later, the MiL came outside to tell us that my sister-in-law was at the hospital, in labor and working to deliver Cubby's brand-new girl cousin unto us.  YAY!  Oh, and also the tree guy called and he was coming to take down the enormous and worryingly hollow ash tree looming over some power lines near the garden.

Ten minutes later, Tree Guy arrives with his enormous truck and proceeds to hop in the man lift, fire up a chainsaw, and start cutting branches way high up in the air.  Cubby was transfixed.  Of course.

AND THEN.

Just when Cubby was sure the day couldn't get any better, a huge diesel truck pulling a trailer loaded with a real tractor came up the driveway.  And the tractor had a wood chipper on the back of it.

I thought Cubby was going to pass out from joy.  Instead, he purposefully approached the tractor, inquiring "Drive?  Cubby*?" This should not surprise anyone, given his history. When informed that he would not be operating that particular piece of heavy machinery, he then switched to "Drive?  Man?"  He repeated this approximately every five minutes until one of the men did actually drive the tractor into position.  Then they drove the diesel truck behind it and started chipping the branches.

You are looking at my son's idea of heaven.  God help me.

The tree guys finished around 11:30 a.m., just in time to bring Cubby inside for his nap at noon.  What with all the activity of the morning, he was naturally exhausted and slept for three hours.  That afternoon, he spoke what is really, truly, and technically his first grammatically correct sentence with no pauses.  He was busily hammering at a chunk of wood near the evaporator and talking to himself when, clear as day, I heard him say, "Good job, Cubby**!"

Okay.  Self-congratulations.  Better than orders to his mother, I guess.

At 4:45 p.m., the MiL called to let us know that Cubby's cousin had arrived safely and all concerned were doing well.

At 5:45 p.m., I called a halt to the sugarin' so the sugarers--and Cubby--could come inside and eat dinner.

At 7 p.m., Cubby went to bed and I did dishes.

At 8:30 p.m., a large pot containing nine quarts of maple syrup was borne into the kitchen to be strained and put into jars.

At 9 p.m., I finished washing all the pots and other accouterments of sugarin'.

At 9:01 p.m., A. and I dragged ourselves upstairs and into bed.

It was a long day, but a productive and exciting one.  Sugarin', tree removal, first sentences, and a brand-new baby.  Not bad for a random Wednesday in February.

* He did not technically say this, as he doesn't actually refer to himself as Cubby.  But we must keep the mystery alive, mustn't we?

**  See disclaimer above.