Pump-kuh

We welcomed October with a harvest festival on Capitol Hill.

Tons of carnival-style fun.  It was so funny watching Andrew lift one of those big red sledge hammers to test his strength.  I think he maybe made the metal doo-dad rattle from its resting place once.  But he was pretty proud of himself. 

And pretty proud of his painted pump-kuh, too.

We got in a few hours with Jacob, before he had to commence working for the rest of the weekend.

Daddy time is so, so important for the little guy.  The way they play is completely different than the way Andrew and I play.  They roughhouse and wrestle and bounce balls off the ceiling and do funny walks.  We read books and stack blocks and color and match picture tiles.

{Why is it that when visions of photo ops dance in a parent's head,
suddenly it becomes a child's worst nightmare to pose for a picture?
Can someone please explain this to me???}

Lately, Jacob's been working extra hard and long (for us!  for which I am so grateful!), so there's been less raucous, toddler-exhausting Daddy time to be had. Which means more time with me. Which means I am worn OUT and Andrew is overflowing with unspent energy. There's an inverse relationship like that.

And, in that situation, his behavior is the first thing to go.  And, boy, does it ever GO.  The past two days have been pretty terrible.  We've had an upturned (like, feet straight up in the air) coffee table, an overturned dining chair, a gift from Jacob's brother chunked across the room and broken, a naptime refused, every manner of food and toys thrown, and fits pitched all the live long day.  John Fletcher's been kicked in the head and I've been hit and bitten.  It's been grim.  And it's been trying.

I've long said he must either be exercised or exorcised.  So, we're in the midst of a little home exorcism at the moment.  And it involves a good bit of exercise and a good bit of discipline.  The exercise part is fun.  The discipline part is so not.

This parenting thing can be hard sometimes.