Slightly OCD

Another 5:30 wake-up call on a Saturday morning. Two year-olds don’t understand weekends. Yali also doesn’t seem to understand that I don’t appreciate him using my back as a trampoline prior to 6AM on any given day of the week.

With Oxbear down in South City for the morning, I had the two boys on my hands, plates of scrambled eggs that in most cases the cat managed to share with them, and a book report to finish with Puck. Of course these events are often interspersed with things like:

“MOM! YALI’S REPEATEDLY WHACKING ME WITH A BOOK!”

Giggle, giggle, giggle.

“AAH! AAH! AAH!”

Giggle, giggle, giggle.

Banging fists on the table for more food is always a possibility.

And of course the laundry never stops. Never. Stops. Neither does the Zout.

By the time Oxbear returned at 12:30 or so, Yali decided to wake up early from his nap, crying like he’d just lost the moon. He was doing some kind of made-up crazy sign language for me. Usually I can figure out pretty quickly what he’s talking about, but this time I just had to haul him out of bed and let him direct me to whatever was making him sob so uncontrollably.

The linen closet.

He pulled out the baby nail clippers from the third shelf down and handed them to me. Tears ended.

“Seriously? You’re crying because you wanted me to trim your fingernails?”

He held up both little brown hands. So I trimmed his fingernails – which barely needed it – and he went back to his nap. I think we have a potential case of OCD baby on our hands.

After dinner, Oxbear took Puck to buy a blue “lightsaver”. Puck collected all his pennies into a little basket, just enough to barely scrape past the required $9.98 plus tax, and marched out the door with his dad.

Back inside the house, Yali asked to hold my hand after I tucked him into his crib. That’s how he fell asleep.