Falco and I were at the playground today, and a cop walked by. (The police station is just up the street.) Falco said, “Look, there’s a policeman! Hi, Policeman!” He stopped to talk to Falco for a minute and asked if he was going to be there playing for a while. He said that he was going to go get some stickers and would be back in 10 minutes. Falco waited. Falco talked about the policeman coming back. Falco talked about what the sticker would look like. Falco never saw that cop again. We waited for close to 40 minutes and finally left. It’s best he learns early that 5-0 are not to be trusted.

Today, Falco and I went with a crew of friends to the Jelly Belly factory in Fairfield, CA. It was my brilliant idea, and we were both pretty excited about it. The hour-long drive went well, and Falco was giddy when we got out of the car and he saw the enormous jelly bean out front. That was probably the happiest moment we had there.

We got inside, and it was a huge place with high ceilings and a million kinds of candy dispensers and loads of people and color everywhere. What started as a fun, exciting adventure quickly turned into an overstimulating, over-crowded hellscape for my child. After a half hour of waiting for the tour to start, he had deteriorated into a hitting, whining, squirming mess. I thought we just needed to get the tour (and fun) started to get the good times rolling, but he was well past the point of no return by the time we got our paper hats and made it upstairs for the tour.

By the time the (lame) tour started, he had already struck pretty much every adult and child in our party and would not stop whining about wanting a beverage and why was it taking so long and when could we go home, etc. About 10 minutes in (about an hour after arrival), I finally carried him out of there like a sack of potatoes and sat in the car with a crying kid until we both calmed down.

After our cronies made it out with free jelly beans in hand, we went to Westfield Mall and ate lunch at Chick-Fil-A, which made it all worth it. Falco had pulled himself together by lunchtime, and good times were had by all. (I need to go email Mr. Chick-Fil-A right now and beg for a San Francisco location.)

Moral of the story: If your kid gets frustrated and overstimulated and mean in crowded indoor spaces, don’t take him to busy factory tours. Also, Chick-Fil-A makes delicious chicken sandwiches.

I’m ecstatic to report that my worries about Falco being done with naps were unfounded. I think he skipped his naps on three nonconsecutive days, and now he’s back to sleeping for a solid 2-3 hours every afternoon. As my sister recently said, naps are like sweet little gifts (for which I am very grateful).

It’s not that I don’t enjoy his company, but he moves and talks constantly, which wears me out. Of course I relish hearing him talk, but he’s not just talking; he’s asking. Asking me to hand him things, asking to do everything his way, asking the same questions over and over, asking questions with obvious answers. When the incessant asking is combined with whining, by lunchtime I’m nearly over the edge.

He’s sleeping now, and I am rejuvenating and looking forward to seeing him again when he wakes up. Then he can squirm and jump and run and talk and ask and whine for a couple more hours until bedtime.

At the museum today, I grabbed Falco to put his shoes on, except it wasn’t Falco. I saw where he was playing, went to get his shoes, then picked up a child from the last place I spotted him while looking elsewhere. I realized I was holding a too-small kid who was already wearing shoes just as his dad started to say, “Hey, wait!” I thought it was hilarious, and hopefully the dad didn’t panic for a moment at the thought of having to fight off a kidnapper. If Falco could stay in one spot for 30 seconds, this never would have happened.

It was just called to my attention that, in an effort to reduce the unmanageable amount of comment spam I receive, I have scared away my actual readers from commenting. I thought by requiring commenters to create an account, I would only hear from live people, but it has backfired. Spam is still getting through, and live people don’t want to create an account.

I have turned off this futile and annoying “feature,” and now you can comment away, anonymously if you must. I will write more. You will comment more. Discussions will happen. It’s going to be awesome.

xoxo,

Andi

I mentioned that we were thinking about getting a Prius after renting one on our trip to Mississippi. (When I say we were thinking about it, I mean I was thinking about it and Matt was going along with it. He never drives and doesn’t care much about what kind of car we have.) That idea led me to research other small hatchback options, and I decided that getting a new car was a good idea.

Unfortunately, getting a new car means going to car dealerships. I thought the car salesman stereotype was a joke until I pulled into the first dealership. Desperate-looking dudes were swarming the lot, and one guy pounced on me when I hadn’t even gotten Falco out of the car yet. Luckily, I had already emailed someone about a car, so I had someone to ask for. Saying I was there to see the Internet Sales Manager was like holding up a cross to vampires; the regular sales guys backed off and pointed me to the man I needed to see.

To make a long (boring) story short, I considered the 5-door Yaris and almost bought one, but the color I wanted was sold out everywhere. I drove a Scion xD and didn’t like it. Just when I was about to think there was no perfect car for me, I read about the Kia Soul.

Small, quirky, unique, cute colors, roomy interior, great warranty and reviews, light-up speakers. I drove it. I loved it. I bought it!

I’ve had it for about two weeks now, and having a new car makes me feel like I won the lottery or something. My favorite feature is the built-in bluetooth hands-free setup for my phone, followed closely by the speakers that flash red in rhythm with the music. It is also just so, so new. It’s really comfy inside, and it holds plenty of junk. Here I have a stroller behind the four bags of groceries.

Best of all, I have yet to see another one on the road! I’m not sure how long that will last, but for now I can enjoy feeling special driving around in my Soul.