Little Mouse

We have a mouse problem.  Again.  Last time we ruthlessly killed the invaders and I still feel queasy about it.  Even though they pooped over every thing in sight and chewed through enough stuff that we trashed all our food.  So we rid ourselves of the whole family and the super stuffed any holes he could find.  That worked for while.  On the plus side, I finally learned why the phrase "build a better mousetrap" is apt.  Snap traps are the pinnacle of engineering.

But this time we're keeping them away with peppermint oil.  Problem is, the smell is strong but also fades fairly quickly.  So I'm getting grossed out by the stench of peppermint while also needing to keep dousing the kitchen surfaces. And I gave a bottle to our neighbors next door and now the mouse (mice?) has been driven back into our kitchen looking for food.  Everything we have is in the fridge or in glass jars, but to no avail.  Our new roommate even chewed through foil-covered vegetarian bullion cubes.  WTF?

Today Sasha and I had to clear out the nest.  Not a nest, really, more like a mouse toilet mixed with tiny wood chips.  We cleaned out underneath our kitchen sink and hunted for entry points.  Sasha was eager to find the holes and imagined an elaborate and pleasant post-apartment life for the mouse after we closed the holes.  (The mouse will see that the holes are blocked, then turn around and take the elevator down to the ground floor and then...)

Best and worst thing about a 3-and-3-quarters-year-old helping?  He can fit just about anywhere and is happy to crawl around somewhere novel.  Give him a flashlight and a sense of purpose, however, and he quickly invents other urgent tasks and purposes that get in the way of (Mom's) original task.  And then upon realizing he can't solve a single one of these terrible problems, he loses interest and asks to play with the iPad.

Camping in the Catskills

 

I did it.  Two years after the first try, I attempted once again to take Sasha on a solo-parenting camping trip.  What a difference his age makes!  We weather was perfect, the campsite was beautiful, the bears stayed far away, and the two of us had a blast hanging out and exploring the world around us.  Naturally, I made some rookie mistakes, like reading the sign to him that said KEEP FOOD IN YOUR CAR.  BEARS PRESENT.  The sign was posted on the bathroom, the first place we went after arriving.  His face fell, his voice dropped to a falsetto whisper, and he said, "There's bears? I'm done with camping.  I want to go home."  I tried in vain to convince him that bears won't bother us, they don't eat people, we will be safe if we follow the precautions, etc.  Finally, I realized that distraction was the only way to leave this topic behind.  So I unpacked the tent and Chief Scared of Bears got immediately down to business, all threats forgotten in the rush to build a shelter.

Pretty much everything was amazing as far as Sasha was concerned.  He loves his cozy new sleeping bag, gathering sticks for marshmallow roasting, starting fires with dirt and rocks, being in or near the water, investigating the neighbors, peeing outside, wearing headlamps to keep the bugs away, cooking food on "the luver," his name for the grill that goes up and down, finding berry "tomatoes" to throw in the water.  Essentially we had 2 days of non-stop action though we rarely left the campsite.  We're going again next weekend with Mama.

Mission accomplished.

 He kept the red headlamp on "to keep the bugs away."

Enjoying roasted marshmallows at the fire.

Beautiful morning on the pond.

  

Happy Mamu, happy boy.

The joy and wonder of bare feet.

Loving his book of mazes.

Anyone have a clue what this is? 
Sasha loved to smash them and make a bright orange goo explode out of them.

Showing off his latest karate skill: the forward roll.

Finding the right spot in "The Dragons of Blueland."

Sasha wrote his name on our to-do list prior to the trip.

Ki-ya!

Look out, hooligans!

Nerdy and I wanted to enroll Sasha in a class or two for the fall.  We discussed soccer (too boring), swimming (too infrequent), gymnastics (too far away), and then Nerdy thought karate was something we could check out.  So I took him to a 3-class intro course and from the minute it started, he was in love.  He has a smile on his face from the moment he gets to the studio to the minute I drag him out (he always wants to stay and watch the big kids class).  The first class included an assessment, which for a 3-year-old I assume means a kid should be able to jump, kick, duck, and understand English.  The Bub had just woken up from a nap when we walked in the studio, but as soon as the teacher/sensei spoke to him, he was on high alert.  It may have helped that Sensei Alex is also Alexander-call-me-Sasha.

You might be thinking, "Karate for a toddler?  Seriously?" but the place makes it clear that classes for the 3-4 set focuses primarily on acrobatics and discipline.  Very different from the herding cats style of soccer class where the main focus seems to be keeping children within the boundaries of the park.  In karate class they don't mess.  If the kids aren't doing their kicks or jumps properly, they don't move on until they get it right.  I suspect that the discipline aspect is part of what Sasha loves.  He likes the challenge of learning something new and then being expected to do it properly.  And maybe also because the classes are taught by older boys and men.  Who are loud and tough.  And who also demand that he kick harder, punch faster, and yell louder.  Like heaven to an active child like our beloved Bub.

Mama at 40

Happy Birthday!

We love you!!!