Call It What You Want...

Today was a great day. Today was the much-anticipated trip to the Children's Museum. We were meeting a friend there, and it seemed as good a time as any, particularly since my work ID was back in my possession and I could get in for free.

Our first activity upon arrival was lunch. We got a table in the food court facing the windows, with hopes that facing away from all the action would enable Mark to focus on his eating. For once, there was nothing to fear. He tucked into his pizza and breadstick like a starving wolf, or at least like I imagine a starving wolf would if given pizza and a breadstick. In the meantime, friend Andrea went off to fill drink cups, leaving Aislinn to chew on a little piece of breadstick. She finished it and decided she wanted more, so she grabbed the tray and started to pull it toward herself. Quick thinking by Auntie Jur saved the day (and Andrea's lunch).

We saw lots of amazing things. Mark was in hog heaven. In each area, he was able to stroll/run from activity to activity, trying new things, looking at fascinating things. He got to look at what it's like underwater in a pond, saw a stuffed fox, and played with rubber rocks and building blocks in the Science area; and rode a giraffe on the carousel, but the most wonderful thing was the Playscape area, designed for preschoolers and younger, where Mark could play with abandon.

The best area was the water table, long troughs of moving water with all manner of floating toys, and all at the perfect height for little people. Despite the supplied rubberized coverup and provided clip to keep it fastened, a certain baby ended up with wet sleeves, but he had such a wonderful time! Every time he finished with another area in Playscape (the sandbox, baby climbing stuff, building stuff, etc...), he would head back toward the water table for another go. (And each time as I caught him and felt his soaking sleeves, I directed him somewhere else....)

We saw the dinosaurs and fish, played a computer game (and finally got to Indiana in an "Oregon Trail"-type game), went into a real log cabin (old hat, he told me), and tried lots of other fun stuff.

We'll be going back. Especially since, for Mommy (and the boy who is under 2), it's free.

I crushed the little boy's spirit -- if momentarily -- today.

Off we had gone to the library, to check out some books for the mommy of Anna, Noah and Elijah. Sometimes Mark gets to walk in on his own, but knowing we'd have to spend a few minutes in the adult non-fiction books about preemies section, I thought the stroller would be handy.

We walked in the front door, and he started bouncing, leaning forward in his stroller, jabbering happily, aiming us in the direction of the stairs which descend to the children's department and all its diversions, particularly the ones that live in big tanks and swim about. Except that I did not drive us that way, but instead through the doors to the GROWNUP BOOKS! Outrageous! Cruel! He let me know that I had let him down. He screamed. He shrieked. He whined and threw himself about in anger. He cooled down and wandered around pushing the stroller and wondered how long this boring section would take.

We got a small pile of books for Linda to peruse. And then it was down to the children's department for some books for a certain small boy. And maybe, just maybe, we'd go past those denizens of the deep. Except, because we had the stroller, we couldn't go down the stairs; we'd have to use the elevator. That was a point of concern, because we went the wrong way. But he continued to chant, hoping that his words would fix things.

Fish. Fish. Fish. Fish. Fish.

And then the elevator stopped, and we were downstairs, and through that door -- yes, that one -- were the fish, and we were through the door and Mark was happy again, jabbering happily to his friends with whom he was reunited.

Look! Look! Look! Look!

Our library has beautiful fish, by the way.

A suspicious-looking car cruises through the deserted streets of downtown in the wee hours of the morning, sliding to a stop in an empty parking lot opposite the typical small-town businesses.

A shady character disembarks from the passenger seat, yet the car waits in the shadows, engine running, while the unknown person crosses the street toward the darkened doors of long-closed merchants. A robbery, perhaps? Something evil must be afoot.

Fortunately, Officer Friendly is at the ready, having seen the car coming to a stop in a place it shouldn't be at this hour. He has stopped his police cruiser in a place prominent enough to discourage all but the foulest of criminals, with his headlights shining into the eyes of the alert getaway driver.

The driver, fearing for freedom, makes his move, tires squealing as he pulls away from the curb, running red lights through the sleepy streets of downtown, exceeding the posted 25-mile-an-hour speed limit by at least 50 miles, trying to outrun his pursuer until Officer Friendly catches his prey in the Kroger parking lot. The shady character who was left behind, clearly up to no good downtown, has, in the meantime, been apprehended in the act of some terrible crime, and the getaway driver has also been captured.

Another wretched crime foiled by our town's finest.

That's not exactly how it happened. It was more like 10:00 p.m., and the suspicious car was a gas-electric hybrid Civic, which pulled up in front of friend Ericka's apartment to drop her off. Officer Friendly did indeed pull into the neighboring Subway parking lot, headlights shining into my eyes, waiting until I pulled away from the curb.

Ericka safely within her front door (I always feel it's polite to make sure she at least gets inside before driving off, though I doubt anyone would have the temerity to attempt some sort of mischief on her), I pulled away from the curb (signalling my intentions, naturally). Officer Friendly followed me. Left turn at the first stop light, officer behind me. Straight through three lights in downtown (all green for me as I cruised a mile or so below the posted limit), a stop at the light across the bridge with the officer still behind me. Once across 19, he did turn into the Kroger parking lot and gave up chasing me for another day.

Really. Nobody move until I find out which one of you stole my work ID badge.

It was Mom. Or Mark. Or the two of you in concert.

It's been gone for two weeks now. The last time I had it, I stuck it in my pocket, saying "I'm going to need this tonight." (I would be going to sewing later and would, indeed, need it to get into the building.)

By the time I got to sewing, it was gone.

Some of us *might* have gone to a local restaurant before sewing. I checked there. Really. The very next morning, I called and asked. They hadn't seen it, but assured me they'd keep an eye out for it. I even looped through the parking lot and checked by the parking space I'd used the night before. No tag on the ground.

Last week I made the trip over to work to do something -- now I can't even remember what -- but mostly with the purpose of heading upstairs to have a new badge made -- at a cost to me of FIVE (5) DOLLARS. However, the new lady who does it now that the amazing Kelly is working maintenance was ill that day, and the other person who could also do it was also not in. So I didn't get it.

That means (aside from not getting into the building without calling the front desk) that I can't go free to my friendly local museums until I replace it. I can't plan a Children's Museum trip with Andrea and the girls and Mark until I get my ID badge. I can't run off for a freezing zoo trip. I can't see the LORD OF THE RINGS exhibit at the Indiana State Museum (http://www.in.gov/ism/MuseumExhibits/lotr.asp), at least not for a museum-employee courtesy price. I determined I *would* get back and get a new badge.

This morning I got a phone call. It was one of the people roughly in my department. Mr. So-and-so (of facilities fame) came by and dropped off my ID badge with her (possibly because she was the only person "in charge" around at the time in our department). He'd been at said restaurant that evening (the same evening as I had been, 2 weeks ago) apparently wearing his museum-logo duds. An employee, finding my badge, had given it to him to return to me. I'm sure he or she thought it would happen in a more timely manner.

But you can all move again. The lost is found.

Yes, the time has come, and as of Sunday at 8:11, 8:13 and 8:14 a.m., I'm an auntie auntie auntie.

Friends Shawn & Linda's triplets were born Sunday morning. Anna, Noah, and Elijah came into the world at 29 weeks (full-term for single babies=40 weeks), and are all doing very nicely. All breathing on their own, room air, all tiny but holding their own, only one in an incubator at this point.

Linda has commented that as she has met more mothers of multiples, every one of them somewhere in their conversation mentions faith in God. Linda doesn't think it's possible to even begin this journey of raising triplets without faith. How could one deny God when, quite miraculously, there are three babies growing, living, coming into the world all at once? Yes, there is modern medicine (hallelujah), but God-given skills, knowledge, and abilities are really what let this happen.

These three kiddos are in for some challenges. Shawn and Linda are in for some challenges. All of their friends and family are in for some challenges. But the Lord only gives us that which we can handle. And Linda's been teaching sixth graders for all these years. She can handle three two-year-olds, when the time comes. And three sixth graders.

So here, I salute my friends and my new little buddies, and send prayers for everyone to get big and strong and stay healthy and breathe a lot and all that.

I don't know how it happened, but the other night I came home to find him playing peek-a-boo with his girlfriends Kristin and Brianna. And he did it again today. Of course, that was, when he wasn't trying to BITE.

He got his first time-out yesterday for biting Mommy. I told him the next time he bit, he would have to go up to his crib -- with NO PACIFIERS. He bit. He got to sit in there for a minute by himself, not even with his favorite blankey-bear. Horrible mean mommy.

But today, what an angel. We went shopping this morning to buy Uncle Brian some coal, Uncle David a KISS album, Grandpa a new kitten, Grandma a hard strategy game, Aunt Tara a music box, and Aunt Amanda a sweater that matched everyone else's. He was a very happy baby, talking and laughing in his stroller, sitting up excitedly whenever he saw another baby (which was all the time; the place was teeming with them!), and in general having a great time!

Now he's up in his room making a lot of noise, so I guess it's time for Mommy to let him get up from his "nap". *(Play-nap, of course.)

But he can peek-a-boo!

It was Mark's first Halloween (not trick-or-treating, but passing out candy). That was big enough.

But today brought a really big first that I didn't see coming.

The doorbell rang. I went to the front door, threw it open to find a local boy (who I knew) and a girl (who I didn't). Benjamin is the youngest son of the director of my division at work, a nice kid, fourth grade or somewhere in that area. The girl is probably his age. She was wearing red colored lip balm. Both had their bikes with them.

"Can Mark play?" Ben asked.

Unfortunately, Mark was still in his afternoon nap. He didn't get to experience the thrill of the first time someone came over to ask if he could come play.

I can't believe someone came over and asked Mark to come out and play. It's a new day.