supervisor

It rained today, so we found some indoor work to keep us busy. We are refurbishing a rental house that wasn't treated too nicely by the last tenants. It happens to be the house I lived in from age 10 to age 18 (and when I came home from college for a few years after that as well), and I have some fond memories of the place. My brother's room old room still has glow in the dark stars painted on the ceiling, and the bathroom we shared still looks much the same as it did, save for a weird kid-themed paint job where the wallpaper used to be. We used to lock each other out of that room so many times... Dennis will not experience that here because we only have one bathroom. And if he locks us out of it, we'll probably just take the door off the hinges. Perhaps we'll add another one in a few years--the house certainly has the space for it.

We took Dennis with us and put him in his dreaded pack and play while we worked. Surprisingly, he didn't cry. He amused himself with a couple of toy matchbox-type cars, driving them up the mesh sides of the play pen and occasionally throwing them over the edge for the thrill of seeing them crash on the ceramic tile floor. None broke, amazingly enough. Yes, he's too young for matchbox cars, but he doesn't know that. He didn't put them in his mouth (much), but instead rolled them around like boys usually do with cars. Must be instinctive.

He finally bored of the cars and spent some time watching me scrub the kitchen cabinets, stove, and floor, inserting commentary when he felt it was necessary. He was my pint-sized job supervisor for quite a while, then decided to entertain himself (and me) with weird physical antics. He flopped down on his back and put his legs in the air and waved them, then brought his feet down as hard as he could to pound his shoes on the bottom of the play pen. It made a fairly satisfying noise, so he giggled and did it a few more times. He rolled around on his back and smashed his face into the mesh and made dinosaur noises for a while, and then he took to trying to eat his shoes while they were still on his feet. I'll say this for him: he never got bored. I was quite amazed. About two hours into the job, Gran and Pop showed up with food, and we took a picnic break. During this time, he figured out how to open the shuttered doors between the dining room and living room, so we blocked them with his diaper bag. Not five minutes later he stood there and studied the situation then moved the diaper bag out of the way, opened the doors, and took off for parts unknown. After we finished eating we put him in the play pen again while Gran gave us the long to-do list for the house, and then they took him with them to the lake and to their house. They played with him in his playroom, fed him supper, and put him to bed. He was sleepy when we picked him up, but happy, and they reported that he had been extra sweet. They don't babysit him often because we're pretty much always around, and he's an easy kid. But he certainly enjoys his time with them and will probably spend more time at their house now that we've set up a baby friendly room for him to play in with lots of room to run around and plenty of climbing opportunities (though some of those climbing toys are actual furniture and not Fisher Price in design...).

He chortled happily while I changed him into his pajamas after we got home, and as always, I played with his feet. Nearly a year and a half after he came out of the womb he still folds up those fat little legs whenever you take his clothes off. I have to un-pretzel him to be able to get his diaper off every night, and I still have not tired of playing with his perfect little feet. Cute little toes, small perfectly shaped feet, toenails that look just like Daddy's... This coming from someone who usually HATES feet and shudders whenever they come near me. Baby feet are precious, though, not that every part of Dennis isn't precious... Some of what comes out of him isn't so wonderful, but he's 100% adorable. Not that I'm at all biased, not me...