Fog and Tunnels

It's 8 a.m. on Tuesday and I'm sitting in my classroom with no students. This is strange, considering the fact that usually my room is busy with adolescent banter at 7:20 each weekday. The issue today is the fact that we're on a 2 hour fog delay and I didn't get the message until I walked in to the school at 6:53 and noticed the usual people here at that time weren't here. A fog delay, you ask? Yep. Ridiculous as it may sound, when you teach in the middle of a corn field, fog is truly a hazardous thing. As I drove to work this morning I considered the fact that if we weren't delayed, we should be. So here I am. I've finished grading one set of papers, entered them into the computer, and decided to blog before I get crackin' on the next set.

We're in the house. Not completely. The duplex still has plenty of stuff in it, but the house is livable and we're doing just that--living in it. It's great. I do have a few pictures taken to share, but considering the fact that I have this unexpected time to blog, I don't have them with me.

The most blog-able news for a time such as this is the fact that Cole is in a "big boy bed." I foolishly failed to realize that about 20 months ago when I marveled and whined at my "big boy" for the first time, it would only get worse. Every day I'm amazed at how big he is getting. I'm shocked at all he can do today that he couldn't do a week ago. I find myself asking, "Did he just say that? He really did that?" It's shocking. And now I'm wise enough to acknowledge that it's only going to be more shocking tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day...

His big boy bed is actually his crib, converted to a toddler bed, which in our case means that he still has three sides just like the crib, but the front side is gone. The first night (which was also the first night at the new place) I put him in, continued with our usual routine, give kisses and cuddles, and walked out, closing the door behind me. Almost immediately (just after I got down the hallway), I heard the door open, and out he comes. I take his hand, tell him it's bedtime, and try to drag him back. He's crying at this point, but I tell him I'm close and tuck him back in. The crying lasts about 10 seconds and that's it. I don't hear another peep until morning, when he runs down the hallway to me, gives me a hug, and says, "I sleep!" I think he was really proud of himself, and I was really proud too.

The next night goes smoothly. He stayed in bed and slept until about 2 a.m. when I found him standing at his closet door. I put him back in, stayed with him for a couple of minutes, and walked out. Piece of cake. Until, according to Gilbert, about 7:45 yesterday morning when he started whining. Gilbert went to get him and couldn't find him. He could hear him crying, but didn't see him. Turns out he had crawled under the bed and tried to come out on the back side, which was pushed against the wall. He was curled under there with his blankie, soaking wet from a leaky diaper, crying. Gilbert says he was a little traumatized. Understandably so. Gilbert: "Did you go in the tunnel?" (UNDER anything is a "tunnel") Cole, whining: "Yeah. Tunnel." Poor baby.

As far as I know, last night was fine. Oh. We did put a rail on the side of the bed in hopes that we would prevent any further tunnel experiences. He didn't wake up during the night. I'm not sure how his morning's been. I guess I could have been home to find out, if I'd anticipated that fog might allow me to sleep in just a little longer...