Oh, man, I’ve been busier than a one-legged demon in a soul-stealing contest this week. Blake’s birthday was wonderful, although I did feel a huge pang of mommy-guilt that I didn’t bake for him this year. Despite my lack of maternal concern (sob!) he seems to be bearing up; by all accounts he thoroughly enjoyed running around and saying “I’m two!” (we’d trained him to say, “I’m going to be two!” when asked).

(This past week I’ve been trying really hard to be present for him, as I find it all too easy to withdraw when I’m sad, and this only makes me feel worse. Withdrawal girl was the old me, and the old me could afford to withdraw from human congress when times were rough. The new me has to grow up and realize that a day without Blake is horrifying, no matter how much time he takes up and how many silly things I become involved in. Also, his morning cuddling is wonderful. It’s the only time of day when he really wants to cuddle and he’ll spend an hour snuggling, talking, crawling about and kissing me when he wakes up. So despite the fact that I’m now waking up at 4:30 every morning, our mornings together are the one thing that keeps me from getting really depressed.)

Anyway, I was talking about Blake’s birthday, right? I managed to finish his bunny hat in time for his birthday morning, but there are several problems. 1) the hat is too big (thanks for the sizing advice, Mom) and 2) Blake won’t wear it. I couldn’t help crying at that, not so much about the rejection but about my own stupidity. I’m so consumed with the way I want the world that I have great difficulty seeing things any other way. A $10 plastic tool set would have gone over like fireworks, but I needed to knit him a bunny hat. I’m so dumb sometimes. The Boy calmed me down, reminding me that Blake always needs time to get used to things and I shouldn’t judge my success by his unwillingness to wear a wool hat inside the house.

All of these birthday preparations took place in the background, as I'm busy working tripple-time at the Learning Derby. I fought my way through the entire week at school, grimly pulling back from the urge to be honest – as Holden so wisely points out, morons hate it when you call them morons. Things seem to be rebounding with Goneril, but I’m not rolling over on her latest request. I’ll be damned if I have to get to school for 6 a.m. to supervise a Grade 9 dance – I don’t want a good reference that badly.

The Weekend of Too Many Parties dawned all too quickly. Fortunately, most of my invitees declined, so I only had about 2/3 of the guests we had last year. Blake was awesome, from the moment an hour before the party started when he spent an unsupervised five minutes alone with the birthday cake (icing everywhere!) right up until he kissed the last guest goodbye. So much better than last year, when he wouldn’t leave his room. I’m just kind of bummed that more babies didn’t make it. Not that he cared: he and K8rs tore it up in the living room like they were the only people that mattered. Definitely a case of quality over quantity.

Sunday I did the Sunday School Christmas party, a nerve-wracking experience that left me famished and on the point of collapse. Several surprises crept in at the last moment, and I spent a half-hour certain that I would be the first Sunday School Superintendent who was lynched in the middle of the Christmas party. (“What do you mean, the only sandwiches that have arrived are egg salad!?!”) And yet I survived to witness the grudging compliments tendered when all was cleaned up. I’ll be so glad when this job is just a story I tell, and not a weekly trip through organizing hell.

We rounded off the weekend with a lengthy stop at Opera Sarah’s annual Xmas eat-a-thon, where we re-created the baby chaos last seen at Orion’s birthday party. Blake was again, amazing, cramming every bit of food he could find into his gaping maw (and removing them half-chewed when bored). Near the end, he and Orion took turns putting a wire waste-paper basket on their heads. When it was Blake’s turn, he smooched me again and again, giggling as our spit slimed up the side of the basket.

I think we’d still be there if I hadn’t had to mega-plan for my day at Hogsboro High. This week? Is all about marking.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 12/12/2005 07:41:00 p.m.