In reading through my old journals, it became abundantly clear to me, at least in hindsight, that my parents didn't care for K. I know he and my dad don't get along now, and I'd be afraid to leave them alone in a room for more than about 15 seconds - Lord only knows how that conversation would go, and it would probably end with someone bursting into flame. And that makes me sad. That's one thing that really struck me about my old journals, the feeling that my parents couldn't be excited with me about my engagement, couldn't share the happiness I was feeling then, at what was undoubtedly the most exciting time of my life. Is it too much for a girl to hope that her significant other and her parents would get along, or even - gasp! - like each other? *SIGH* Wonder if I'll ever have that experience?
And now for something completely different. When I was rooting around for my passport this morning, I also found a book of the poetry I'd written in high school and college, circa 1982-1989. One word: EWWWWWWWWW. That was just about the sappiest mess of drivel ever to grace a page, and it almost set my teeth on edge to read it. There's a walk down memory lane I could have done without! LOL
J took a 2-hour nap at daycare yesterday, like he usually does, and last night bedtime was hell. I put him to bed around 8:30, per the usual routine. And then he proceeded to try everything imaginable to get out of bed for the next hour and a half or so. AACK. He wanted trucks, wanted milk, didn't want trucks, had a poo (no, he didn't, I checked - several times), wanted blankies, didn't want blankies, wanted to go poo on the potty (no, he didn't - he wanted to use the potty as a ramp on which to drive his trucks), wanted to rock. AACK. I'll let him fuss for a bit, but based on past experience, there's no point in trying to let him cry it out. He doesn't settle after a few minutes - the volume just keeps getting louder and louder, and I reckon it's easier to talk to him, tell him why he can't have the 40 different things he's asking for, than to listen to him scream for 45 minutes. And finally he gave it up and went to sleep. After last night, I'm starting to think that it's *almost* easier to have him skip the nap (I know, careful what I wish for, I might get it!).