Ain't No Mountain High Enough

I called the pediatrician's nurseline and, without giving my name, asked if it would

"be a problem if my one-year-old ate gum?

With the wrapper on."

"Nope, it'll pass through."  This was a relief since Andi not only ate the gum and it's wrapper, but the two other gum wrappers the twins had thrown on the floor.

In the spirit of continuing to prove myself as "Mother - of - the - Year," I confess that recently,  I abandoned Andi in her baby-seat in the pool because a wasp was floating around her head. "Oh my God!" My mom says, hurrying over to stand by Andi who is floating, unaware of the danger buzzing her head.  "Every man for himself," I told her.

Unlike the other perils Andi has found herself in as of late, which were more like fleeting incidents, the climbing has become an obsession for Andi.  Today climbing reached a fever-pitch.  I found Andi jumping on the couch, then outside, moments later, standing on a mini lawn chair while eating a popsicle. She fell off and bit the dirt. Literally.  When I found Andi standing on the twins' coloring table after coming back inside to clean-up, I knew at that moment that we needed to stop going to the library.

Not only did Andi gain increased knowledge on climbing at the library, I was stalked while we were there. By a four year-old.

Andi and I joined Sophia, Ella, and two other four year-olds that we did not know, in the reading nook at the library.  Instantly, "the stalker girl" we'll call her, started firing questions at me. Here is just a small part of our rapid-fire conversation:

"Is that your baby?"

Me: yes

"What's her name?"

Me: Andi

"Can she stand?"

Me: Yes

"Can she walk?"

Me:  Yes

"Can she run?"

Me: Yes, well, she's just learning, so it's not really a full run.

"So, sort of."

Me:  Yes

"Kind of."

Me: yes

"But not really."

Me: yes, OK Sophia and Ella, Mommy needs to go find her books. Say good-bye to these little girls.


Going back to find a book that always raises my confidence when I think I can't be a "real writer" when I grow up, Brenda Uelands "If You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit" is in, but on the top shelf. 












I set Andi down on the floor and she takes off. By the time I catch her two aisles later, she has two books. On climbing.








I confiscate her contraband and head to the front to check out our books. Fighting with Sophia and Ella over who gets to use the self-check machine, I hadn't noticed that "the stalker girl" had re-joined us.

Andi is screaming as I hold her, so I set her down and she races out the front doors of the library. "The stalker girl" comes with me.  The three of us back inside, I am faced with another round of questions, including, but not limited to "why is she crying? why don't you put her in the stroller? why don't you set her down? Uh OH! She's crying AGAIN.  Why does she get mad? Does she scratch you?  Does she bite? Why?"

If "the stalker girl" would have asked me if Andi could read, I suppose I could have said "yes."  Either that, or her book selections were all an eerie coincidence.