Sprite's Keeper

It Ends With Cheese

My sister and nephew were over for the holiday weekend, sharing a spaghetti dinner with John, me, and the noodle flinging blob of sauce formally known as Sprite.

A bug (house fly) (Latin origin unknown, and I am so not looking it up, people) (All right, fine, the Latin name is probably DOMESTICUS IRRITATINGUS, happy?) had somehow gotten into the house and was buzzing around our table, either to try to partake of the meal we were enjoying or perhaps trying to warn everyone else about my cooking and the possible stomach endeavors to follow. Either way, it was annoying, but it did set off a sequence of events never played out in my home before:

Bryan: "Kill the bug!"

Lee Ann: "Bryan, eat your spaghetti."

John:"Where is my fly swatter?"

Sprite:"Nummy."

Bryan: "I can't eat. The bug keeps coming close. It's gonna touch my food."

John: "Seriously, where the hell is my fly swatter?"

Bryan:"Why do we have bugs anyway? They're not good for anything."

Me: "That's not true."

Sprite: "Eat."

Bryan: "Why?"

Oh, crap. He called my bluff. Um.... My mind could not pull up an answer.

Me: "Ask your mom."

Lee shot me a look across the table and then gave an appropriate response. How are we related?

Lee: "All bugs have a purpose here. Either as food for other animals or to help keep the system in order. Every bug has a reason to live."

John: "Except this one." The bug swooped in to pause over his plate and John tried to slap at it.

Swing and a miss.

Me: "This bug is good for nothing, therefore this bug MUST DIE."

Bryan (laughing): "Die!"

Lee: "Jenny..."

Seriously, how are we related?

Bryan: "I don't want this bug near my food!"

Sprite: "Boo!"

Me: "Sprite, stop teasing the dogs."

Bryan: "Go away, bug!"

The bug came to rest in the middle of the table. Sprite threw her handful of noodles to the floor, narrowly missing the beagle. John grabbed the bag of shredded cheese.

Bryan: "Kill it!"

Lee: "Bryan, lower your voice!"

Me: "Sprite, no!"

Sprite: "All done!"

John: "It ends here."

His arm arced in the air and the bag of cheese aimed for the bug.

SWAT!

Blessed are the ignorant..

Dear couple with the baby we saw at Fireshouse Subs on Sunday,

Hi. We're the family who was sitting at the table next to yours. Ma'am, I saw you looking over at our table with a mixture of pity and apprehension. I know. I can admit it. We looked a little pathetic, didn't we?

Mom and Dad shoveling food in faster than we could swallow while trying to convince the cranky toddler to try a couple of bites and throwing pieces of sandwich from one tray to another, playing a sort of mealtime hopscotch. And while we're doing this, we're arguing with each other over whether or not to give the tot a sip of soda while the tot, obviously strung out on preservatives and all sorts of bad food, is reaching for the forbidden soda and whining for it. And then Mom snarls at Dad to go get the girl a "cookie, dammit!" Sorry sight, right?

I heard you telling your parents (at least I assume they are your parents considering you called them Mom and Dad, but I could be mistaken) about the great lengths you had gone to find the organic Cheerios you were feeding your son and how, since he is beginning to chew harder foods, you are being careful to read the ingredients on every product you bring into your home. 

I saw you give the boy, who is probably about 10 months right now, a toy to play with and he occupied himself with it quietly, giving you all a chance to enjoy a leisurely meal while the toddler (and bad influence) at the table next to you was building a complicated looking structure with her pieces of bread and meat and then going all Godzilla on it with one swipe of her hand. (If I could compare the two tables, I'd say your table had the perfect weather with sunny skies while our table was experiencing hurricane warnings with a high chance of scattering debris.)

It's okay. I'm not taking it personally, because I know something you don't. You will be us. Soon.

Your day will come. When your son begins to walk, and talk, and decides he's not on the same page with the decisions you've been making, your day will be here.

You will have that day when your perfectly clean child decides to take the entire plate of food and hold it over his head, showering sodden bits of bread and lettuce all over his pristine curls.

You will have that day when you are throwing food from one parent's tray to the other because your obedient son all of the sudden decides he only wants food from Daddy's tray and even though Mommy is the one supplying the food, you will do everything you can to make sure it looks like the food is in fact coming from Daddy's side of the table to avoid the tantrum that he will initiate anyway when he catches you in the act with the turkey arcing through the air.

Your day is on the horizon when your golden child, always contentedly sipping from his sippy cup filled with exactly one part nursery water and one part 100% apple juice, will look up and realize his entire life is now hinging on one sip from the soda you are enjoying yourself, and you will be forced to have a battle of wills with yourself and your husband over whether or not you should give in and let him have a sip, thinking on one hand that you may be providing the gateway junk which will in turn pave the way for more bad food to be allowed entrance into his unsullied temple and then the other hand will slap at you with "It's just a sip. It will shut him up." And you will cave.

You will wonder where your good eater's appetite has gone as you make quick calculations in your head over how much turkey and bread and lettuce made it into his mouth versus the floor and whether or not a cookie, while not a substantial source of vitamins and protein, will hopefully fill him up and then order your hapless husband to get the freaking kid a cookie, the same husband who is tired by now of playing hoagie hockey and defending his own meal from marauding tiny hands, and he will look up blankly at your request making you repeat the demand with a "dammit!" and the child, upon hearing the word "cookie", will cry for the cookie while not taking the time to understand that the timespan between hearing the word "cookie" and the cookie's actual appearance is not instantaneous and the volume level will rise until not even the appearance of the sweet merciful tantrum ending cookie will calm him down.

Yes, mark my words. You will be here.

So, no, I'm not taking your pitying looks to heart. Every dog has its day and every toddler has his tantrum. And yours will have his.

In the meantime, soak up all his cuteness and obedience for this is his way of letting you rest up before the real fun begins.

Cheers,

The mom at the next table

Sampler Plate

(Editor's Note: The following four events happened within the span of 24 hours and while they made up interesting little snippets, they were clearly not filling enough to shape a full post, more like appetizers. So I combined all the appetizers together and no matter the mixed flavors, you'll still leave my site feeling full. Bon appetit!)

Sitting at the dinner table last night, I was trying to persuade Sprite to stop shopping from my plate and start sampling her own, yet every bite I put to my mouth earned an "Um?" from my audience.

"Sprite, eat your food. It's the same thing I have." I lifted a grape to my lips and she quickly scanned her offerings and determined that grapes were not on her plate. Her eyes locked on mine. Liar!

"Pease?" she asked, looking at the grape intently. I begrudgingly bit the grape in half and shared it with her.

Again, this happened, her wanting the food on its way to my mouth,  to the extent that I would pop 2 grapes into my mouth for every half one she would beg from me so I could, well, half my grapes and eat them 2. (Get it?) (Not even a snicker? What, weekdays mean you can't be silly?)

We were getting down to the last couple of grapes in the bowl while John was sitting back, watching the two of us wrestle over the fruit and he made a comment about how cute and beautiful our daughter was and how much she's speaking these days and whoa, isn't she just amazing and smart, and I'm paraphrasing here since I was concentrating more on grape negotiations than the adjectives John was using to describe our daughter and therefore not using any quotations to capture his words and permanently affix them to him and do you think I should finally put a period on the end of this run-on and let you get on with the story? (Ooh, used a question mark! I'm sneaky like that.)

As he was extolling on her virtues, she asked again for another grape. "Pease?" she asked, her eyes on the prize.

Well, I must have been moving too slowly for her because the next word out of her mouth was "Now?"

I gaped at her and John gaped at me. Dude, she didn't!

We couldn't correct her, we were laughing too hard. (Is that bad?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This morning, John taught Sprite a new word. "Sup."

As in: "Hey! Sup?" (In case you're not clued in, sup is just shortening "What's up?". I'm pretty sure mostly everyone knew this, but there may be some lurkers who have just woken up and realized it was the 21st century, and they just HAD to check on my blog, so I'm trying to make everyone feel welcome here.) (Keep your shoes on, though. You're not THAT welcome.)

She picked this up right away, of course.

"Sup?" she asked her banana slices one by one, as she picked them up from the plate and devoured them.

"Sup?" she asked me when I extracted her from the torture device car seat after we pulled into daycare.

Her teachers found this hysterical when her greeting to them was "Sup?". I'm pretty sure they'll be shooting daggers by the end of the day when twenty-something toddlers are all racing around the one year old room shouting "Sup!" at random intervals.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sat with Sprite at daycare, getting her comfortable with her surroundings, and one of her favorite teachers entered the room. Sprite made a beeline for this teacher and proceeded to shove into her lap while my lap was still warm from her tushy. (Yes, a little sliver of me died right then and there, but I smiled through it.)

I used this as an opportunity to escape with few tears from her Spriteness and made my way to the door. The teacher, seeing me, said, "See ya! Have a great day!"

Sprite looked over to me while sitting court in this teacher's lap. "See ya!" she parroted, then went right back to worshipping her teacher.

(Another attack, this time a parting shot.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I came back to pick up Sprite this afternoon and a toddler ran over to her and yelled "Sup!".

I guess "Sup" has now taken on "good bye" as a possible meaning, kind of like "Aloha" and "Shalom."

Sprite has started a new trend in the one year old room. She's trendy like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fin.

(Tums, anyone?)

Static Cling

Hi there! How are you?

I'm sorry? What do you mean, there's something on my leg? Well, I... oh, THAT! Yes, that's been there for so long, I'm just used to it by now.

How long? Oh, the last week or so. It comes off every now and again to eat and clean off, and then, THWMP, right back to where it was.

Does it speak? Why, yes, it speaks. It actually has quite the vocabulary when it's in the mind to talk, but mostly, it's just there, wrapped around my leg. It is a little cumbersome to walk though...

Having it removed? Well, I'm not sure. I spoke to the doctor who told me this would be temporary and it would detatch on it's own when it's ready.

What about John? Yes, he has this problem as well. You see, it's more attracted to him than me right now. It even named him "Daddy" and that call is followed by the physical suction to John's leg. Sometimes, it will climb "up" to John's arms and remain there until it falls asleep or is lured away by food. It's quite interesting to watch, really.

Thank you, it is cute, isn't it? See? You made it smile. ...Um, I don't think touching it would be a good idea. It may bite. Just looking out for you there.

How much longer? Oh, about 17 years or so. At least, that's what the doctor says.

Yes, I agree. We definitely have a lot of paitence.

Be glad there's only one? Funny you should say that, I was just telling John a couple of nights ago when it was attached to him that I wouldn't mind there being another one attached to me. He just shook his head at me.

Am I crazy? Well, I - You have to go? So soon? Oh, o-o-okay. Have a good afternoon!

Busting out of Busch Gardens (Guest Starring Abigail from the Katz Cradle!)

Sprite: I want to go see the monkeys.

Abigail: Our parents said they weren't going to that part of the park.

Sprite: That doesn't mean we have to miss the monkeys, if you know what I mean.

Abigail: Go off on our own? When?

Sprite: Maybe now while they're watching the tigers?

Abigail: Um, Sprite? The, uh, camera is pointed at us. Look innocent.

Sprite: Oh, drat....um, "Cookie?"

Abigail: "Hi!"

Abigail: Okay, so I got free. How do we get you out of this thing now?

Sprite: Just give me five minutes. I'll give them a diaper and they'll do it for us.

Abigail: Do you think that will work?

Sprite: Wait.... Oh, yeah. In fact, I only need 2 minutes. This will be fast.

Abigail: Sprite? Where are you? I found a path!

Sprite: Right behind you. Just needed a little refreshment from that diaper.

 

Abigail: This looks promising. Sprite, we just need directions to make sure we don't get lost while trying to find the monkeys.

Sprite: Um, Abby? We have a problem.

Abigail: What's that?

Sprite: Neither one of us can READ!

Abigail: This is gonna take longer than I thought.

Abigail: Okay, I just found out from a five year old that the monkeys are closer than we figured.. Sprite?..Sprite?

Sprite: Cool... dinosaurs and princesses...

Abigail: Sprite!

Sprite: Uh huh....coming...

Abigail: All right, this isn't working and I'm getting cranky. We'll regroup after nap.

Abigail: Zzzzzzzzzz........

Sprite: Zzzzzzzz-(snuffle) (snort) ....Zzzzz..

Abigail: You know, it's getting late, I'm getting hungry, I think we should just call it a day.

Sprite: Yeah, who needs monkeys when you have this cool giraffe?

Abigail: Mine.

Sprite: I'll give it back.

Abigail: My mama reads your blog. I know how you are.

Sprite: Wow, my site precedes me..

They never mentioned THIS milestone in the baby books...

It's going to happen.

John went to see a daycare I liked. He checked it out. He liked it. They have 2 slots left in the one year old room. He wants to transition Sprite soon.

I want to cry.

Yes, I like the new daycare we agree on. Yes, the teachers seem very friendly and professional and the one year old room is even sectioned into 12-18 month and 18-24 month areas which reduces biting and bullying (which runs rampant in most centers). Yes, there's a playground right outside the one year old room and plenty of sand, so we can continue to look forward to daily sessions with the vaccuum. It's also over $100.00 cheaper a month. That's pretty good considering I want to upgrade my Lexus.

But..

My heart is breaking. The teachers at our current daycare have watched Sprite go from blob to slob (watch her eat spaghetti, you'll agree), from just laying there to almost running and proudly asserting herself out on the playground. They have helped to mold her into the independent child with a penchant for mischief that I make fun of in photo essays. (Done with love, of course.)

These teachers were there to see her first attempts at crawling (I happened to be there too, thank goodness) and her first successful steps. They have watched her blossom into who she is and love her almost as much as we do. Sprite knows instinctively where her feet need to take her as soon as we enter the outer office. She has her favorite toys. She has her favorite teachers. (I have mine too.)

Since John works a little farther away, it's usually me who drops her off and picks her up and answers the calls for every little sneeze and misstep. I understand if he's not as attached to the people as I am. I understand that, looking at the budget, John can distance himself from the emotions attached to this transition. Numbers-wise, it makes sense, although sense-wise, the prospect of this change just makes me numb.

I don't want to do this. This is a VERY big deal to me. How will Sprite like it? How will the new teachers like Sprite? How will they like me and my self-depricating snarky behavior? Will Sprite be able to handle the move? Will she adjust to the new faces and places? Will I be able to adjust? This kind of thinking makes me want to hug a blankie or something. My brain hurts with the impact of it.

It's going to happen. The band-aid is going to be ripped off. John has given me a week to make my peace with it, but I want more time, say, until she's ready for kindergarten?

I'm tearing up now. I need to toughen my shell and be a rock for my daughter to cling to when she experiences it, but who am I going to cling to? This is a first I didn't want to see happen, but it is going to. We will survive this. Sprite will make some new friends. I will write about new complaints other than missing diapers and pink eye suspicions. Life will continue on for Sprite in her journey through daycare. The scenery may change a little, but we'll get there.

(Someone hold me!)

Sh, it's a secret..

I have a secret. Promise not to tell?

I keep looking over my shoulder since I don't want anyone to know. Wait, let me look over yours...Okay, we're clear. Here it is.

I'm looking at other daycares.

(Pause)

Oh, that felt so good! To get that off my back. Whew. Okay, let me untense and unclench here...Done.

Surprisingly, we like Sprite's daycare. A lot. With the exception of some issues here and there, it really is a great place. Plus, they give out free sand! (They just don't tell you they do, but every day, just before she goes home, they slip about a tablespoon worth of playground sand into each of Sprite's shoes. It's a wonderful discovery when you're taking off her sneakers at home, in her room, on the carpet.. Where's my vaccuum?)

I know I complain about Sprite's daycare from time to time, but the problems are really only to do with the common things you see at every daycare. Show me a daycare center that has no biters and I will then want to see proof that the kids have teeth.

So, if we like her daycare so much, why are we looking? The problem is the expense. The "Oh My Flipping Freak Out, would you look at that" bill! Let me give you a breakdown without going into too much detail, like social security numbers and what not. When Sprite started her daycare experience, she was 3 months old. She was in the infant room which cost $200.00. A week. If that's not a lot to you, then you must live somewhere urban and chic and aren't you just a badass? If that is a lot to you, then you may live somewhere a little more rural where cows and horses are completely acceptable modes of city transportation. (Your kids must have learned their farm animal sounds way before my tike did and can probably name which parts of the cow go into what cuts of meat. And I am impressed. Really!) If the amount is exactly what you pay, then I know who you are, and please keep your damn cats off my property. My dogs are going nuts here!

All right, now that we've filtered you into your categories (I love organization, I even categorize my readers!), I'll break it down one more time and tell you that when Sprite joined the upright society, they moved her to the one year old room. This dropped our weekly tuition by thirty whole dollars. Not bad, not bad. Now we can afford our Lexus payments.

Okay, so all is well and good, right? We already know what we're spending and she's been there awhile, no issues. Sure. For now. You see, John and I are looking into the expansion of our family project. (I know Sprite thinks she'll be an Only, but we've got plans and it involves toy sharing, her most hated thing in the world.) And with family expansion comes another tuition payment to the school. We'll be looking at almost $400.00 a week. Painful.

Of course you could be thinking, if you can't afford it, why have another child? I am here to say you have a valid point, and I could also tell you where to stick your valid point, but I won't. The truth is, every stage Sprite grows out of is like a little emotional death for me. My arms were meant to hold more than one baby. My heart was meant to love more than one. My sanity threshold is good for at least two more kids before it breaks. (To the contrary of what John says.)

And that is why we're looking (quietly) at other daycares. If it comes down to us leaving our current place, it will be sad. I'm used to the teachers and so is Sprite. She likes it there. I like it there. My wallet doesn't like it there, and unfortunately, it's talking the loudest.

I'm afraid of transitioning her. Hell, I'm afraid of transitioning US, but we'll burn cross that bridge when we get to it. I just hope the new place, if we go to a new place, gives out free sand.

All in all, an Eggsellent Day..

We spent Saturday morning with 200 children under 6, participating in an Easter egg hunt. The kids were wearing their Easter best, holding their baskets tightly as they lined up at the edge of the field waiting to make a dash for the eggs, and a dash for the clueless teenager in the Easter bunny costume who kept holding the head forward and down to see out, only making it seem like the Easter bunny was either depressed or getting over a Friday night bender. (Can we vote here? Number 2! Number 2!)

They divided the children into two groups, birth to 3 and 3-6. The toddler set seemed more intent on picking the grass than the eggs and their parents seemed more obsessed with grabbing the eggs and making their unsuspecting offspring queen or king of the plastic egg gala than making sure their kids were actually having a good time.

My parents were in town and joined us for the hunt as we wisely stayed to the outside of the large group where there were a couple of eggs lying here and there directly ahead of us. When the head of the staff called out to begin, I watched a mass of adults holding crying children move out and shout as they dove for the high traffic areas and could only think, I'm going to blog about this. (I know your ears are supposed to burn when someone talks about you, but do your fingers twitch when someone blogs about you? Hmm.)

Sprite kept a careful eye on the posse and kept her hand on her basket as she picked her way through the grass and spotted an egg. My mom (kinda funny, thinking about it now), who's all about 5'1, played bodyguard, making sure no elbows from the fellow egg hunters came into our personal space as she praised Sprite for picking up her little treasures. My dad and I stayed back, taking pictures,and basking in the cuteness of Sprite, who had not needed any directions and somehow instinctively knew the eggs were supposed to be placed into the basket. (I mean it, we never taught her this. I thought I was going to have to pick up some eggs for her and teach her what to do, but the little chicken showed us she knew better.)

Oh, where was John? Still parking the van. (We got there 5 minutes before they started.) He made it to us in time to see the younger kids wipe the area clean (and even left some grass standing in their wake) and we all watched the herd of older kids make like ninjas and beat each other up for the prized tootsie rolls waiting in the eggs.

So, Sprite got to participate in her first Easter egg hunt. We got pictures of her participating in her first Easter egg hunt. And you got to read about Sprite participating in her first Easter egg hunt. There. Now you can say your day wasn't a TOTAL waste.

Daylight Stealings

I hate you, Daylight Savings! (shaking fist in the air) Curse you! Curse you for mocking my organized life!

I am NOT changing my clocks just to spite you. And YOU can bite me. (However, Sprite just did this morning, so you're just gonna have to get in line....)

Saturday night, I was a controlled, organized, everything set out the night before to avoid last minute delays the next morning which may cause us to run late and I hate being late, woman (who happens to like run on sentences and thinks punctuation should share my hate with Daylight Savings. Curse you, Daylight Savings!)

We had a busy day on Sunday with two events which were both on the East Coast of Florida, and since we live on the West Coast, that meant driving long distances. I know, you're thinking, wow, a day trip to the East Coast which involves at least 5 hours in a moving vehicle with a 16 month old, no wonder Sprite bit you. Well, that's another post, maybe, so please, stop getting ahead of me. My blog. Mine!

We had a birthday party for a two year old at ten in the morning and a family get together at Jeff and Loni's (yes, that's right, they're the ones having a girl, gold star for you!) at noon.

I made sure Marlee's birthday gift was wrapped and in the van (in the locked garage, thanks) and the invitation (which was brilliantly printed by the way and laminated since it had Elmo on it so you know the Sprite was going to want to play with it and we were going to need the directions from it, so win win, Marlee's parents totally rock for that one) was also in the van waiting for directions to be plugged into our navigation system. I also made sure Sprite's diaper bag was packed for possible explosive diapers and checked for possible explosives (because you never know with toddlers..) and even made sure she had snacks and drinks for most scenarios barring a freak hurricane. Oh, yeah, and the van was gassed up and ready to go too. So, yes, you can say I was prepared.

Since it would take 2 1/2 hours to get to the birthday party, I set my alarm for 6:15AM. We were to leave by 7:30AM latest, which would give me ample time to get Sprite up and dressed and fed and tressed and strapped in and stressed (she still hates her car seat), so I went to bed feeling pretty smug,

(You know where I'm going with this, don't you? You are so smart. Another gold star!)

The alarm went off at 6:15AM. I cannot blame the alarm clock, although it would be nice. John came into the bedroom (he had risen an hour earlier to play games on his computer. Yes, he is addicted to World of Warcraft. I am trying to stage an intervention. Any ideas? Suggestions? Leave a comment.) and asked, "Do you know what time it is?"

I sleepily and grouchily looked at the clock without my glasses. "6:15, right?"

"Um, doesn't Daylight Savings begin today?" That would mean it was really 7:15. That would mean we were already late before the sleep was excised from my brain.

My eyes flew open. "Crap! Wake up Sprite! Get her dressed and ready." I ran for the closet to throw on some clothes and make myself decent.

We finally got out the door by 7:45. You have to hand it to us. Thirty minutes to get ourselves and a toddler ready for a full day? I'm sure impressed.

We stopped at Dunkin Donuts for some coffee and a couple of munchkins to get on Sprite's good side (yes, yes, I know we were already late. Hey, do you want to lose one of your gold stars?...I thought so.) and started our journey, way behind the eight ball.

We pulled into the parking lot of The Little Gym at 10:20AM along with at least three other parents and their toddlers ("Daylight Savings?" "You too?" Laugh, laugh, laugh) and blended into the party. Elmo was everywhere! If Sprite loved the red Muppet before, this kind of Elmo immersion would either kick her craving or amp it up 3 or 4 pegs.

So, yeah, toddlers running every which way and what and parents sometimes running after them, sometimes running away from them. Joe, the guy running the show (Yes, I bothered to find out his name. I care.), let 30 balls loose over the expanse of the large mat which had the toddlers going ape-dukie (I'm trying to watch my language here.) running after them. A slightly larger boy stole Sprite's ball which made her lose her temper. (Please, someone else be out there who can understand why I laughed at this. John thought I was evil to laugh at my poor little girl whose entire world at that moment was centered on the possession of this green ball and her face contorting in rage like she just had an appendage removed tickled my funny bone, but for different reasons than what John thought. I think I'll explain it further on Wednesday's post.)

We corralled the kids into the party room and Sprite sat obediently for pizza and cupcakes while wishing the birthday girl a happy deuce. By the way, Sprite scored in the party loot department. They gave out an Elmo doll, a red hat, and a red purse which contained play-doh. Best. Party Favors. Ever. (!) (I told you Marlee's parents rock.)

From the birthday party, we drove another 30 minutes or so to Loni and Jeff's where we had a great time with John's family and talked about Princess 1 and Princess 2 in-utero. John's brother Ryan took some great shots which I will update (only if you say "Please". You're welcome.) and also promised to design me a new banner so I can impress you with something other than this drek. (Yiddish for, um, dukie. I'm going to be teaching you some Yiddish here, huh?) Yeah, he rocks too.

Yes, yes, I'll end the post soon.

We finally made it through the front door at 7:07PM and gave Sprite a bath to get her dampened, diapered, and drowsy, and all before the sun went down. So, all in all, the day went very well, despite Daylight Savings stealing my peace and calm in the morning.

Daylight Savings, I am willing to forgive you and remove the curse I earlier placed upon you, this time. But I won't forget...

(Editor's Note: As you probably noticed, Daylight Savings was last Sunday, not yesterday. I write my posts about a week before they actually post. And yes, all of this really does happen. I may over-emphasize some of the events for entertainment purposes, but they are all very real. Even the frog riding the conveyor belt. It really happened. What can I say, this kid is full of material! I just sit back and let her do her thing and then I plagiarize it for all it's worth. I feed her, she keeps me entertained, it's a give and take thing. So, keep reading. I'll keep documenting. It really is Sprite's World. John and I just live in it.)

Bring Your Own Binky

BABY RAVE!

WHERE: ONE YEAR OLD ROOM

WHEN: UNTIL SOMEONE CALLS THE PARENTS!

JUICE ON TAP ALL DAY! FREE GOLDFISH CRACKERS! FIRST 10 KIDS IN THE DOOR GET VIP ACCESS TO THE CHANGING TABLE! FREE BUBBLES ALL DAY, ALL YOU CAN REACH!

B.Y.O.B. (BRING YOUR OWN BINKY)

The bubble machine is the biggest draw in the 1 year old room.

When the teachers bring out the industrial size bubble refills to fill up the automatic blowers, the kids go crazy.

"Bubble!" "Bubba!" "Mine!" fills the air as they clamor for the bubbles that they know will come from above the shelves. Miss Jessica, one of the teachers, turns on the machine and the fun begins. (Yes, they also have the manual bubble bottles, but 20 youngsters cannot quite grasp that it takes air to fill these soapy forms, and their impatience can make a healthy set of lungs become asthmatic.)

Little bodies writhe to the music (Barney sings.. Disco? Am I really hearing this? The beat is definitely disco, but he's singing about bath time..Please make it stop....) as they dance around, entranced by the beat and the popping of the bubbles as little hands reach up to the sky to swat at the graceful circles.

"It's like a baby rave!" Miss Shannon, another teacher, observes. Yup, that looks about right.

We watch the children, slam into each other, drunk on Barney (possibly on apple juice too...), each trying to grab and contain the bubbles which cruelly pop before little tongues can taste them.

One particularly big one comes from out of sight to hover over their heads. The small bodies slow down and they watch as one to see where this giant bubble will go. While this is happening, I happen to see Sprite pull a pacifier out of her friend's mouth and pop it right into her own. (What? Like your kid hasn't done it before?) The little girl, whose pacie was stolen, is now enraged and pushes Sprite. Sprite pushes back. Baby fight! Other kids rush the floor and encircle them to see it commence. Security rushes in and breaks it up quickly, taking each toddler to a side of the room and pushing juice on them to ease the tension and small egos, and the pacifier is relinquished out of Sprite's fists. The floor closes up again as the bubbles once again claim center stage.

The mood is heady. The music is loud. The babies are pounding their legs, looking more like they're running in place than moving to the beat. Their arms flail. Their heads bob. All that's missing is the lights and the glow sticks.

And the teachers stand around and let them rave on, probably thinking they'll get a good nap time out of this. (I don't blame them.)