Week 24 Day 2: Mr. P.B. Cups

My dad is getting another dog. He already has two, a pug named Louie and a pug-mix named Charlie, though Charlie technically belongs to my little sister Amanda who lives with him. My dad emailed me a Petfinder listing for a little Chihuahua mix named Rocket. "Wait," I emailed back, "Are you really thinking about getting a 3rd dog?" His response: "Sure. I had five kids..." This, in my opinion, is not a rational response. Having five kids was, I think, crazy (mind you, I don't wish that any of my siblings didn't exist. I mean, the cat's out of the bag now anyway). I've always thought so but especially now that I have one of my own. So using a crazy decision you made to rationalize a crazy decision you're about to make doesn't wash. Granted, getting a third dog is a lot less nuts than having a fifth kid. Although truth be told, Amanda was a "surprise," a.k.a. "accident." A happy accident for me because here we are 19 years later and she frequently babysits Gavin.

It's hard to believe but my tenure as a full time stay at home mom is so quickly coming to a close. This is Stacy's last week teaching and then she's off for the summer. Gavin and I have our last full time day together on Friday. So let's make this week count, people! Tomorrow, for example, I am planning on getting the oil changed in the van. Pedal to the metal of life is what I always say.

"Uncle" Jamie called and invited us to visit her at Detroit Comics so Gavin and I swung by and he tore apart the Ugly Dolls display. He has a knack for destruction. Though this, as destruction goes, was very gentle destruction. Basically he just made a mess. A mess we left for Jamie. But she didn't mind. She loves to to clean up. Okay, that's probably not true. But she's the one who invited him, not me.

Before the comic shop we went to Ace Hardware because I'm trying to teach Gavin to be a man. Okay, not true (I mean, true in the sense that he is a little boy and our goal is for him to grow up to be a happy, well-adjusted, man with superior hygiene, but false in the sense that I think inhaling fertilizer fumes at Ace will make him "manly"). I just had to return something since I am forever going to the hardware store without taking measurements beforehand.

We also stopped at CVS (of course) and while we were there Gavin decided to do a little shopping of his own while my head was turned. He grabbed himself a package of Resse's Peanut Butter Cups, his Aunt Laura's favorite. He was very pleased with himself, as you can see by the picture. Sorry, Laura (who came over after work and actually fed Gavin for the first time), we didn't buy them. Gavin isn't supposed to have peanut butter until he's like, 20, or whatever the allergy guidelines are now. And anyway, we'd rather his first PB experience not be via Reese's. Most likely it'll be via ants on a log or a piece of doorstop bread slathered with natural "stir the oil in so it goes all over your counter" peanut butter. I am ever so hopeful that he will take after Stacy in the cuisine department. Stacy eats very well, super healthy. Me, well, we're working on it. Kind of.

Naps have been a breeze this week. Today there was no crying. At all. Nothing. I rocked him then put him in his crib where he promptly rolled over onto his stomach with his knees tucked under and his butt in the air and goes to sleep. It's almost too good to be true. I'm waiting for the catch, the fine print, the hidden service fees. Actually, I know what the catch is -- this will only last so long and then he'll grow and change and all sleeping bets are off. But for now I'll take it.


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(Gavin just reached over and clawed the keyboard and the above is his contribution. I'm not sure what it means. Probably gang related. And no I was not blogging in lieu of watching my son. Stacy is home and he is attended. But also fast.)