Creek day

Yesterday morning was sunny and warm, and Matt didn't have classes, so we took the kids down to the Whitemud Ravine for a little nature walk. Lucas goes there regularly with Grampa, so he has little rituals that have to be performed each time, such as reading the trail map, throwing ice chunks on the frozen creek, and darting off into side trails, or "shortcuts." Malcolm was feeling under the weather, so he mostly rode on shoulders, unless he spotted a squirrel to chase, or there were snacks to be messily eaten with his mittens on. There is a little resting spot where people have been feeding squirrels and chickadees for years, and when we got there, three fat squirrels were already settled in and munching away. They were not afraid of small giggling children, but would fight with each other over seed piles. Malcolm thought this was the best ever, except that he would really have liked to touch them. Lucas fell on some ice on a side trail and smashed his face, but he recovered after the bleeding let up and he was reminded of the squirrels we were going to feed. It kind of looks like he was in a fight, though. I was hoping the walking would help move Trogdor along, but he seems content to stay in for now.

Waiting for Trogdor

It's about a week and a half until I'm due to produce the third male heir in this family, so about three and a half weeks until he actually emerges. My lap has been reduced to a third its normal capacity, which makes my arms just a little too short to put a snowsuit on a squirmy Malcolm. It's absolutely hilarious when he runs away while I'm trying to dress him in anything. For him, anyway. Tonight while I was reading the boys a story before bed (with Luke in the top bunk getting his pjs on) Malcolm was attempting to use my belly as a step-stool in his climb to the top of, I'm not sure what, Mount Mommy? Trogdor will be wise to stay in as long as he can and build up his weight before he has to contend with his older brother. If he's lucky, Lucas might intervene on his behalf. If not physically, then with a detailed real-time report to me. That's how I found out Malcolm had climbed to the top bunk on his own. "Mom, look what Malcolm just did all by himself!!" was what I heard from the boys' bedroom. The other day it was, "Mom, something got spilled all over the floor!!" Will this third boy be more like his cautious and mostly obedient oldest brother, or will he be the wild sidekick Malcolm needs to help him test the flying apparatus he invented by leaping from the roof?

Idiot cat

The cat has won the war of the laundry room door. I wanted to keep it shut, to keep Malcolm from finding the tools and half-empty cans of paint and solvent in the cabinets, and from eating cat food and/or litter. Matt installed a pet door that Theo happily uses to escape the laundry room, but would never use in the other direction, even when enticed by cat-treats. I know his brain is the size of a walnut, but the laundry room is the one place Malcolm couldn't chase him when he's on one of his squealing and head-butting rampages. Instead, Theo meows and moves about five feet away, hoping Malcolm won't see him crouching in a different spot on the carpet. Anyway, Theo won by freely urinating on any soft pile of blankets that was available when nature called. If it was going to be too cold to go outside, and the laundry door was going to be closed, it wasn't his problem if I had to do a little extra laundry. So now the door stands ajar, except for the few hours a day that Malcolm is unsupervised in the basement. There's nothing like a week of -29 degrees to make you want to punch your cat in the face.