A Reprise of "Praise be..."

So I got a chance for a grand redo tonight, with Jen off to a stake training meeting. I thought I would try my best to see if I could "get the buttered toast to land face up," if you know what I mean.

So same story, I walk through the door, we have a nice hug, Jen gives me extra encouragement, "Blake's on the couch. Try butternut at 6:30 and watch for his signs around 7 to nurse before bed." She had graciously expressed some fresh milk for me to use. Blake sure loves his mama, and loves to nurse in the evening. So anyway.

Here's how it went down:

1. Once the door shuts, I go pick up Blake and immediately discern that there is a poop that may or may not have been saved for the daddy. Opting for the "one touch method," we go straight upstairs, and I clean his bum then full-on bathe him.

2. With a refreshed baby, Ian and I decide what to fix for dinner. We settle on sauteed green beans and Ian's favorite curly noodles (Raman, HA!), and warm the squash for Blake.

3. Ian sets the table, I finish fixing dinner, and we sit down to a nice meal together.

4. Blake gives me the look that says, "The stuff that mama gives me is MUCH better than this. You think I'm gonna eat that for you? Don't you remember that I had some for breakfast already?"
5. I persist, and I have a bite of mine, then give him a bite of his. He ends up wearing much of it, but that's why God gave babies chins, isn't it?

6. In the end, he decides it's fun to eat with Dad and big brother, so we continue having a blast until the meal is over.

7. Then we clean up our dishes and start tidying the kitchen. We load up the apple dehydrator with a new batch of apples, Ian sends me to the compost pile with the cores and peels, then we wipe down the counter. All the while, Blake is squealing with delight at his rings and his new Lion type of toy.

8. Once the counters are clean and the apples are done and the dishwasher is loaded, I look over and "Ohhh, nooo!" Have I lost my window for an easy night-time bottle/snuggle? Is this going to end in a never-ending crying fit? I give Ian the bottle to carry upstairs for me, while I unclasp Blake from the booster seat. Still asleep. I creak up the stairs. I lean over the crib rail with the baby clutched to my warm body. I ease him onto the cold mattress expecting that hair trigger in his back to incite a vocal explosion. Nothing. Still asleep. Ian and I collude together that we should tiptoe down the stairs.
9. Checking the baby monitor from downstairs, he is still "Sleeping like a baby." Phew.

10. From there, Ian and I have a grand old time. We vacuum, play with blocks, make a few movies, have dessert, he reads 2 (2!) chapters from Dick and Jane with only a little urging, we read scriptures, he has a bath with his bath letters, pajamas, teeth, bed.

I've got laundry in and a wife on her way at the end of the street waiting for the police and fire truck to leave before she arrives. Won't she feel proud of me? So here's the thing: I realize now that there are great days and there are treacherous days. You can't really predict how it's going to go. BUT: with a good attitude and an array of things to keep busy with, the time flies and soon the wife is home and wants to hear all about it. Perhaps?