Weekend Things From All The Things
December 12, 2011
Weekend Thing One:
Another three months, another belt test.
Another hilarious ("HILARIOUS") and obligatory video of the board-breaking moment and belt ceremony, during which Noah was specifically, personally warned -- upon penalty of FAILING -- not to touch his board or bring it up to the front, which he always does, because...well, have you ever broken a damn board with your foot? Me neither. I imagine I'd probably glue that thing onto a fascinator and then never take it off, just to warn people not to mess with me, I WILL BREAK YOUR ARM OFF AND USE IT AS A CHIN STRAP FOR THIS HERE HAT, M'KAY?
Anyway. Noah obediently placed his board next to him and put his hands back on his knees while other students were called up to receive their new belts. And then Jason and I watched as he sl-o-o-w-ly started losing focus and succumbing to the siren call of Shit To Fidget With and picked his board back up.
"NOAH, NOAH!" you can hear Jason and I frantically hissing from behind the camera. "PUT YOUR BOARD DOWN. NOAH, NOAH! NO BOARD DUDE, NO BOARD!"
Our whispers got increasingly desperate (read: loud) with each kid's name and finally he turned around and heard us, just in time to put it down and head to the front for his belt.
"OH MY GOD," I groaned, even though I really meant "HOLY FUCKBALLS." But I did not say that, because honestly? Noah's karate teacher scares the hell out of me, too, so I try to stay on my best behavior.
Weekend Thing Two:
So babies are, obviously, born with the ability to somehow KNOW that their parents have bragged about what good sleepers they are. Even if it's nothing more than a Facebook status update, they KNOW that you have broken the code and invited the wrath and eaten something from the table with That Thing With Eyeballs In Its Palms From Pan's Labyrinth. They will wake up seventeen dozen times that very night and there's nothing you can do about it. You asked for it, you big dummy.
I was totally betting it might work in the reverse when I called Ike out for being a crap sleeper last week. Maybe, JUST MAYBE, his instinct to Prove Mama Wrong All The Time could be tricked! "Oh, you think I'm a terrible sleeper? Well, look at me! Look at me sleep! Don't you feel silly now?"
(Or alternately: "Oh, you think THAT was terrible? HA HA HA I'M GOING TO WAKE UP EVERY 15 MINUTES FOR NO REASON AT ALL.")
Back in the days when Ike was a mostly pretty good sleeper, his bedtime originally settled around 9 pm. Late, yes, but it was nice because I could help get The Other Two into bed before getting called up to Boob Duty, and Jason could squeeze in some baby cuddle time that didn't involve The Other Two dive-bombing Ike's face over and over and over because Baby Ike! Baby Ike! Baby Ike! He's so cute! We want to hug his neck with a vengeance!
Eventually it was clear that 9 pm was entirely too late and he was going to pieces by then, so we tried edging it up. But then there was his tendency to take a late, short catnap around 6:30ish, which yes, YES I KNOW, was not a good idea but it allowed me to get the stupid mac n' cheese on the table and the cocktails in the shaker, so I went with it. But the nap wasn't long enough to really count as sleep and yet was just enough to take the edge off for a few hours, at which point Ike would lose his shit when he went from zero to massively overtired in a span of a few minutes.
We tried an 8:30 bedtime, then 8, and even a 7:30. Still hideous. I tried getting him to take a nap earlier, at a more appropriate time. Swaddling, no swaddling. Adding an extra, post-boob bottle. Same result: A screechy, exhausted baby who would not put himself to sleep without maximum sturm und drang, and who would, at best, sleep fitfully all night, with lots of wakings and irritation, until finally conking out good and cold at...oh, 5 am? Maybe 6? HOW'S THAT WORK FOR YOU?
But now it's looking increasingly like we just hadn't moved his bedtime up early enough. That 6:30 "nap" was actually him trying to tell us to knock that shit off and put him to bed already.
So now Ike's bedtime routine kicks off Early Bird style...by 6:15 he's in the bath, by 6:30 he's changed and lotioned and strapped into his Nighttime Battle Armor Diaper, and then we rock and nurse and sing for a little bit and he's out like a light by 7 pm.
And on four out of the last five nights, I haven't heard a peep from him until 7 am.
Oh the fifth night, he woke up once, at 3:30. I nursed him and he went back down within 15 minutes. I sense that waking was a warning because I think he somehow knew that I was thinking about writing this post.
HA HA CHILD I STILL HAVE LEARNED NOTHING. I WILL PUT YOU TO BED AT FOUR PM IF I HAVE TO, THEN GO OUT FOR A $6.99 STEAK DINNER IN BOCA.
Weekend Thing Three:
Ezra left this for me in my phone's photo library. I...I don't know what it is, but it is oddly reminiscent of a Top Chef Quickfire challenge, no?
Ezra Storch, your Next Top Iron Chef Food Network Chopped Star From Hell's Kitchen Challenge