Our mall has a big padded playground full of climbable structures made out of some sort of hardish padding. The only way kids get hurt is by running into other kids. Feeling challenged, Noah decided to FIND a way to hurt himself.
You’ll have to forgive the quality, it’s from a cellphone. And while you may think you heard me encouraging him, that’s just the sound of kids in the background. I would never encourage that kind of reckless behavior. And yes, the video cuts off as he’s climbing up for another go.
Noah has taken to eating his shampoo. We use this hippy-ish Burt’s Bees baby shampoo that’s made from honey, so we figured maybe it tastes good or something. Teresa dabbed some on her finger, gave it a lick, and now I get to keep forever the wonderful memory of her face turning from trusting curiosity to disgusted horror.
“Oh, oh no. It tastes just like shampoo. What is wrong with him?”
What indeed. He’ll eat it off his just-washed fingers likes he knows it’s wrong. He’ll lick his fingers with furious speed, getting as much as he can before we can manage to splash a wave of water on him, washing away his forbidden dessert.
On the subject of devilish treats, tonight when I asked him what he wanted for dinner, he lower his head, put on a sheepish/sinister (is that even possible?) grin, and looked up at me, “Cookies?” You can see his mind working. “One of these days…one of these days it will work.”
I’ve written before about my lack in inborn home maintenance ability. Today it was put to the test when I made myself a bowl of cereal, only to take the first bite and be appalled with the taste of luke-warm milk. The fridge is cold, but apparently not cold enough. Both Teresa and I had gotten some indicators over the last couple of days, but neither of us thought enough about it to mention it to the other. Go communication.
I started looking up what could be causing this, and a nearly fatal mixture of bravado, self confidence, and YouTube how-to videos ended with me taking apart a fridge before I knew what to look for. Well, I knew what to look for, but I was trying to solve a problem I didn’t have. I spent an hour or so calling up appliance repair places looking for a replacement for the perfectly good part that was in my hands. But hey, that narrows down one thing that needs to be fixed right? I’m sure Noah was impressed watching his father use a hair dryer on the back of the freezer. One day this half-faded memory will convince him that his father was handy.
So I put the whole thing back together, and reloaded the freezer, and hoped everything in the fridge stayed cold enough to not kill us tomorrow. Hope with me that my neighbor doesn’t start to wonder how long I’m keeping their cooler. I’m going to go back in tomorrow, this time test the defrost timer, and if that’s working, then I’ll check the defrost thermometer. I hope it’s one of those things, cause if it ain’t, then I’m lost and I’ll have to deal with the stress of my father-in-law tearing it apart when he visits next week. Nothing against Greg, he’s a good guy, but few things sting the man-ego like having to relinquish a tool to your dad-in-law. Handing over a screw driver is more than, “I don’t know how to do this.” Oh no, when it’s your father-in-law, it’s “I don’t know how to do this. I also don’t know how to raise your grandson. I don’t know how to treat your daughter, and I moved her 8 hours away from you for no reason.” Yeah, that’s a pretty heavy screwdriver. All the more reason to get this done right.
Wish me luck.