Hmm, where was I?
I honestly didn't mean to let so much time elapse between entries; it seems that my little boy has developed a social life, and it's been negating my ability to sit in front of the computer. We have play dates, playground trips, zoo adventures, and library time. If I don't get him out of the house with some regularity, he expresses his dissatisfaction with great volume. Sometimes he tries to take matters into his own hands, going to the door and beating on it with his fists.
A few days ago, I was working in the kitchen when Sam decided to begin his door routine. I had the door open to the screen door, which was itself locked, so I didn't worry much. After several minutes, though, I heard him make an odd squeaking sound. I turned around to see that he was nose to nose with our next-door neighbors' little girl, who was standing on the other side of the screen.
I don't think I've ever mentioned our neighbors. Honestly, we'd never really spoken. Eric jokingly referred to the husband as "the drug dealer," since he tended to go and come at odd hours of the night and was usually quite brusque and unfriendly-looking. His wife was a blonde bombshell and was foreign; we assumed, from the sound of the language she spoke on the phone as she sat outside, that she was Russian. Thus, Eric dubbed her "the mail-order bride." I was more generous with my monikers for them; in my head, I referred to them as Boris and Natasha.
I had tried on occasion to be social with them, but my efforts went unrewarded. Perhaps it was a language barrier, but Natasha seemed entirely uninterested in talking with me. I wasn't all that upset, since I was working at the time and rarely had time to spend at home in the first place. I would pass Natasha and two-year-old Squirrel (well, I could hardly call the child "Moose") as they played in our communal backyard, and we would smile, but that was as far as neighborliness went between us.
But now my son was hopping up and down with glee at seeing another child so close to home. I went to the door and smiled at the child. Sam began pounding to get outside, so I obliged him. The sun was warm, and Sam began crawling around on the pavement in excited bliss. The little girl squeaked in surprise and tried to pat Sammy like a puppy. It was a moment fraught with sacchariney goodness.
Natasha and I talked while the kids played. I found out she and her husband were from Slovakia, not Russia. It was difficult to understand her through her very strong accent and her slight trouble with English, but she seemed very nice. I guess she was just shy before. Isn't it funny how children can breach societal walls?
As Sam gets older and more aware of how he can affect his own world, he becomes more and more difficult to handle. Lately he's taken to tantrumming on a regular basis. The smallest things can set him off without warning. Mommy takes a dead bug out of my hand? Scream. Daddy's putting on his belt instead of letting me play with it? Scream. I threw down my toy and now I don't have it? Scream.
Some things are almost guaranteed to create a shrieking fest. Putting him into his carseat when we're getting ready to go home (he never fights when we're getting ready to go out) is a big trigger. If I have to put him down to go to the bathroom, he wails and tries to follow me. (I hate peeing with him on my lap.) If he sees us eating and he doesn't have something to put into his own mouth, he becomes quite agitated.
But he can turn around on a dime. He rarely cries for more than a few seconds before being up and running once more. If he's cranky for me a few seconds before Eric walks in the door, you can bet that all will be sunshine and daisies for Daddy. Sometimes just a flash of my chest will be enough to inspire a grin and a quick dash for the comforts of my lap.
He likes to play games. His most recent one is a toss and catch game. It's just a simple ball game, but it makes him incredibly excited; after a few rounds, the thrill seems to take over his whole body and he begins to shout at the top of his lungs. "Oh! Whoa-whoa-whoa! Oh, whoa!" His arms shoot out like a little Frankenstein and his throws begin to go wild with his excitement. It's all I can do to keep from laughing hysterically at the sight.
Moments like those are what gets me through the tantrums.
Regarding the last entry: my mom spoke to her surgeon. According to him, the Armed Forces Lab is entirely reliable. He says that Hopkins didn't have all the necessary information, and he honestly believes that she did have cancer. She arranged to have the rest of the information sent to Hopkins, and we're waiting to hear what she should do next.
I just hope we get the correct answer. I hope to God she never had cancer, but I don't want her to take any chances with her current treatment based on faulty conclusions.
one year ago:
I've made a decision; I want to spend the rest of this pregnancy underwater.
two years ago:
Luckily, we're both pretty decent with the silver ball, though Eric can beat me hands down most times, so a few quarters can go a pretty long way.