Mr. Busy

Just spent a delightful week down the shore with my 1 and a half year old grandson, his parents and my brother. It's amazing to watch a toddler at this age. They are just busy all the time.

Alex loved the beach and sat quite contentedly playing in the sand, filling cups, pouring them out, filling the pail, pouring it out, rearranging cups, filling some with shells, deciding which ones went in the cupholder on the beach chair. We actually stayed on the beach till 6 o'clock because it was so relaxing and enjoyable.
 (Compare that to the day before: 10 minutes in the pool and then constantly following Alex around the pool, as he picked the flowers, examined the hose refilling the pool and stared at 2 chatty 4 year old twins who told us their life story!) I tried to demonstrate just smelling the pretty flowers instead of picking them, but got a big-eyed look in return where he was clearly wondering what was wrong with Grandma's nose.

Grandpa made a brief appearance Thursday night for the kiddie rides, and despite how serious they both look here, the rides were great fun. I think Alex liked the Carousel the best. He had been on one before--familiar territory and by then had grown accustomed to the lights, noise and crowds.

My favorite Alex-watching was at home. He would wake up happy, big grin on his face, ready to start the day. After breakfast his work began. We had jerry-rigged most of the kitchen cabinets shut with rubber bands, but left him one which contained big 1 liter bottles of seltzer water. Alex would peer in each morning, perhaps a little surprised that the bottles he had so patiently distributed around the house yesterday were now back in the cabinet. He gave me the old "time to make the donuts look" and started once again moving around his seltzer. (I have to say the first night I went to bed and found a bottle on my night stand, I thought, "What a thoughtful host--a bottle of seltzer in case I get thirsty during the night." Then I remembered it was my house!)

Time to mow the carpets!

Once the bottles were taken care of, he could move on to running his walker over every inch of carpet, as if it were a vacuum cleaner. Next, he'd pull out some of his toys.

Ahh, Grandma getting a drink of that well shaken seltzer while  Alex points out some local coupons!

 I sat on the lazy boy rocker and when he needed a rest we'd rock and read a book or two. Maybe sing a song like- "Rock, rock, rock, rock and roll high school" or "Rock-a-bye your baby with a Dixie melody." He had favorite pages in the books that he liked to go to immediately.  I don't know who conceived of this idea but one of his books takes the familiar nursery rhymes and substitutes construction words--Builder Goose. Alex loves it. After a few reads he remembers that just like the little pigs and dogs marching in to pick up bricks and lay them straight, he has more work to do.

I imagine him thinking:
"Oh, yeah, first I have to indulge Grandma with the Where's Alex game. I disappear behind the chair, then stick my head out the other side. She cracks up everytime.  I mean---everytime--- so of course, I do too. Well, she is getting on in years..."

When Alex gets very excited, he clenches his fists and arms and gives a big, shaking laugh that can turn into a pleasurable yell. As in: Yippee, Mom and Dad are back!

And guess what, after a few days, even Grandma got that reception!

Adventurous Weekend

Two weekends ago I visited the shore to see how the restoration of the beach and boardwalk were coming along. At Point Pleasant Beach, the commercial section of the boardwalk is almost all open and the residential sections are under active reconstruction. Good news! Of course, things may look like they are returning to normal on the outside, but inside many homes there is still much work to be done.

boardwalk above Haven's Beach

view from the ocean toward the boardwalk

Houses along the inlet are still in bad shape

I enjoyed the sunny but crisp day and then went to the brick house to stay overnight. Everything there looked fine--I walked around the house and no leaks or problems.  We had survived the winter intact.

As often happens to me when I'm on my own, I got sucked into the computer and ended up working until almost midnight. I collapsed into bed in a restless sleep. Was it too much spice in my dinner from Spike's takeout? Was it the feeling of being in a strange house with unfamiliar noises of the heat turning on and off? I wrestled with my pillow for a while and then sat up, startled by some noise. I peeked out the blinds because it first sounded like birds chirping. It's 1 AM, my rational self scolded me. Were these jet lagged birds just back from a European vacation?

I sat perfectly still. I strained to hear the chirping again, but this time it sounded like heavy breathing. I poked my head cautiously out into the short hallway which connected the smaller bedroom to the master. The hallway seemed eerily long and threatening. It's a small house, I said to myself, yet it seemed like Jack Nicholson might suddenly pop out from the bathroom, wielding a butcher knife. Get hold of yourself, I reasoned. I heard thumping now and peeked out the windows to see if there was anyone outside. Slowly, I crept down the hallway to the master bedroom and jumped into bed. All quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief. Wow. The imagination is a powerful tool.

...And then all hell broke loose. Thumping, banging into walls, running in circles--there was definitely something in the attic. When the sounds momentarily lulled, the chirping, chattering returned and then, as if a whistle had been blown, the running recommenced. Squirrel olympics? rabid raccoons? These sounds registered decibels above the mere skittering of field mice. I wasted no time and threw on my clothes, started up the car, (remembered to open the garage door), and wheels screeching, shattered the quiet of the streets. It was 1:30 AM.

Surprisingly, the parkway was crowded, but I stuck to the right lane all the way home and let the DWI's streak by me. It was 3 AM when I finally exhaled and arrived home sweet home. I fixed myself a snack and heard familiar snoring from upstairs. The next morning I woke at 8 and found my husband sitting at the breakfast table, just finishing up the Sunday sports section before heading off to work. He was surprised. What are you doing home? I pointed to the note I'd left for him on the counter and my coat and bag on the chair.

Oh--I missed them. 

You probably would have missed it, too, if a van pulled up last night at 3 AM and emptied out the entire first floor. 

I married a man who would have slept through the minor annoyance of a squirrel olympics with no problem.

My trapper arrived on Tuesday. You're not allowed to kill wildlife, so Balance of Nature promised to trap and remove whatever animals you were harboring. I was drawn to the ad for Nuke 'em Pest Control, but I figured, despite the oddly comforting image on their trucks of a mushroom cloud surrounded by dead pestilence, that even they would have to follow state regulations.

My main concern was that the trapper might not be able to find the small holes through which the animals had entered. Was I wrong! Stevie Wonder could have found the three big holes in the roof near the gutters. Walking around the house I had missed them because basically I was looking below the gutters. Step back 10 feet and look up again and you can't believe it. They found fresh evidence of squirrels, older signs of raccoons and a bird's nest to boot- a veritable menagerie. Previously I would have loved this picture which a wisecracking friend sent me. Now it just looks sinister.

How can you not love me?