Mommy, Daddy, RRBB Make Three = Family

My husband, with his ever-delightful voice, sings a variety of made up songs to our son. “Mommy, Daddy, RRBB, that is our family. Mommy, Daddy, RRBB, that is our family. Mommy, Daddy, RRBB make three, and that is what we call a family.” And they get stuck in your head. For days. Which is infinitely better than having the theme from Mighty Machines rolling over and over in your brain at all hours of the night–I’ve been there too. The cottage is amazing but I’m kind of thankful that it’s closed up for the season. All the driving, all the doing, all the toddler-management, all of the panic of getting there and getting home–it’s a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it’s worth it, just for the sunshine and the swimming alone, but I’m ever-so tired these days. A familiar refrain, yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

So. The last few weeks have come and gone. I’ve slept and not slept. I’ve had good days and bad days. I’ve discovered that the key to surviving either is a nap and a good cry. I’ve pretty much given up reading novels at the moment. My brain simply can’t compute, or I’m not particularly inspired to say or do anything. I’m spent. In the truest sense of the word. That said, I did have a good spell of writing this week, it’s not particularly good, but at least I did it. Time moves forward. I’m stuck. Another week goes by, I get nothing done except surviving. The pattern defeats me.

We have, however, done a world of fun family things over the last few weekends. Days that have left my little boy wrangy and exhausted from fun–days that I know he might not remember but I will, and even thinking about it now cracks me up. The High Park Zoo and his now obsession with Highland Cattle. Springview Farms and their amazing tractors sprawled all over the grounds. Thanksgiving at his grandparents and playing the leaves. Visiting a fire truck with his Poppa. Happily accompanying his frantic mother who’s trying to get meals organized for an incredibly busy week. Preparations for a birthday party where he will turn two.

Two.

And what a wonder he is–his language, his comprehension, the very way he snuggles into you one moment and then kicks you like a donkey the next. The best moments of the day come while watching him “dance”–this involves jack-rabbiting around the room exclaiming, “that’s a good song!” He cracks me up. Sometimes, it’s close to a movie moment, those seconds where you are convinced you should have never been a mother, where you’ve yelled at your son in a typical knee-jerk reaction without thinking first, and then within three seconds the two of you are giggling crazily at being pet like a cat. In the end, there’s nothing like a day alone with a toddler to teach you everything you need to know about life. You know?