How They Wake Up

Getting the kids up in the morning is an irrevocable step. Whether you're ready for them or not, you're committing to looking after them for the foreseeable future, and especially for the initial 20 minutes of getting them all changed/pottied/fed breakfast.

It's important to note that only James is reliably able to tell whether or not he's just taken a nap or slept through the night, so as far as Owen is concerned he should be able to eat a breakfast meal every time he wakes up. If you try to explain to him that it's mid-afternoon, he'll just tell you that today was yesterday, or that next day isn't come yet, or that tomorrow was last night, or some similar Lewis Carrol nonsense. James is also the only child is can be counted on not to have peed in the night. You would think, given how many times we hear the bathroom door opening and closing during the night, that Owen would have sufficiently emptied his bladder to avoid any accidents. But we are still in a pretty unreliable cycle with him. We may need to just throw out his mattress at some point. And Felix, of course, is still in diapers. J thinks that Owen has regressed with staying dry through the night because he's sleeping that much harder after playing that much harder during the long, high-intensity summer days.

This theory would help to explain the other characteristic of Owen's waking-up routine--near drunken grogginess. Once he's awake, the child is a dynamo of movement and chatter. But if you have to wake him up he might not even recognize you. He'll suck his fingers and bury himself under the blankets--or he'll groan unintelligibly about carrying him downstairs and then curl up into a ball on the sofa until he's ready to start for real. He's sort of like a machine with only one very high intensity gear that just repeatedly stalls out until all of a sudden it's on ALL THE WAY. Felix is usually sweet and happy when you get him up. He doesn't make too much noise--just some of his low-voiced babbling and moaning, and when you walk into his room he's sitting in his crib and grinning at you, two teeth poking out of his little gums. He raises up his arms when you go to pick him up, and then he'll rest his head on your shoulder--his heart-melting little hug. His most regular start-of-the day position, though, is arching his head backwards. James and Owen both come in and pay their good mornings to him by standing on the side of his changing table, and he cranes back to look at them and giggle for them.

James is my favorite to get up, though. It's a little bit like getting an owl out of bed. You walk into his room, and his head pops up from the top bunk, glasses sitting crooked on his face. He changes himself into pajamas up there, and they're usually on backwards, or inside out, or both. And then he asks you in a quiet but rapid-fire voice whatever it is that he's been lying awake thinking about for the past hour.

"What was the score to the baseball game and who did the Red Wings play?"
"Do you think that today we can have pancakes for breakfast and have Nutella with them?"
"Are there still seven popsicles left in the freezer, or did you and Mommy eat some of them last night after we went to bed?"
"Is today the day that Miss Jane is going to come over for a visit, and do you think that we can schedule a playdate with Alexa?"
"How does the sun travel from East to West?"
"Do you want to hear some jokes that I read from my clubhouse magazine?"
"How many days until we camp out?"

It's usually better for him if Owen is sleep-drunk, because if Owen is also awake then Owen will immediately start talking in a much louder and more piercing voice, and then you can't hear anything James is saying. You just see an owlish looking six-year old with his hair sticking out in odd directions while the soggy three year old tells you that he was a good boy because he didn't get out of bed to play with toys except for three times, so can he please have some ice cream?

Getting them is an irrevocable step, but always an interesting one.

Felix's First Word

We think Felix may have figured out a first word.

Like his cousin Hayden, he seems to have figured out "Uh-oh."

Here are some real life situations where he's used it correctly:

Dropping a pen onto the floor repeatedly
Seeing a toy he wants on the floor while being held
Dropping the toy he wanted onto the floor
Eating rocks in the driveway
Tipping over a can of peanuts repeatedly
Getting ahold of a grownup's phone
Finding an adult who isn't willing to immediately pick him up
Finding one of Owen's matchbox cars unattended
Knocking computer parts off the desk
Pushing my phone off the sofa ledge
Tipping over a coffee cup
Falling over when standing up against someone
Ripping a dust jacket in half
Dropping my kindle onto the floor
Dropping my notebook onto the floor
Dropping an empty envelope onto the floor
Seeing James and Owen playing outside without him
Dropping pens onto the floor
Pushing food off the side of his tray
Dropping food into his lap
Getting wiped off with a wet paper towel after a meal
Ripping up a post it note that had a list on it
Pulling the soles out of Owen's boots
Being unceremoniously deposited on the carpet

Owen's Legs

Owen's legs hurt.

They hurt because his parents are trying to be healthy. And we try to be healthy by eating lots of vegetables and fruits and exercising regularly. And you can't really exercise regularly with young children except by exercising WITH the young children. This was simpler two years ago, before we had a Felix. We would strap James and Owen into the stroller and they would conk out into a semi-napping state as the miles went by, or perhaps they would bring books to look at or just talk to one another and point out neighborhood cats and dogs.

But then we had Felix. And now we don't have room in our double jogger. We briefly flirted with the idea of putting all three kids in strollers (we do have a single jogger still), but James is really much to big to be pushed around anymore, much as he'd be fine with it. So instead, he's learned how to ride his bicycle. He's very fast, he doesn't easily get tired, and he seems to have a pretty good head about safety.

So Felix can go in a stroller, and James can go on his bike while we run. Except, of course, there's Owen.

Owen won't go in the stroller anymore. That's for babies. But he isn't big enough to ride a bike. He's pretty good on his scooter, for a three-year old. But a three-year old on a scooter absolutely cannot keep up with a six-year old on a bike, not matter how fast he things he is. (He is, in his own words "faster than speed.") And so Owen tires himself out trying to keep up with James, and then he whines about how tired he is and how his legs hurt and he needs someone to carry him.

But even when you offer to let Owen ride in the stroller (once he's tired himself out) he'll back out of the agreement once he realizes that he's going to have to sit with the baby instead of riding with the big kid. He needs to scooter like James. And everything is a race.

Our pre-run preparations have turned into battles. Here's how it usually goes.
Adults: "We're going to go for a run in a few minutes!"
Owen: "Outside?"
Adults: "Yes!"
Kids: "Yay!"
James: "Can I ride my bike?"
Adults: "Yes."
Owen: "Can I ride mine scooter?"
Adults: "No. This time you need to ride in the stroller because of--"
Owen: "WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Adults: "--but don't you remember last time when you crashed three times and said you were so tired that you were going to sleep by the side of the road and--"
Owen: "I NEED TO RIDE MINE SCOOOOOOOOTER! LIKE JAMES!"
Felix: <eating paper he found on the floor>

We were always conspicuous when we went on family runs. But now you'll definitely hear us before you see us. And we're sorry, whether it's for Owen's legs hurting because of how tired he is, or whether it's because he's been unjustly imprisoned in the stroller like a baby. We're just going to keep on running.

Because we're going to be healthy even if it kills us.