Well, we made it back to Michigan safe and sound. Mostly sound. On our last day in Florida I developed a sore throat. And now Gavin has a runny nose and is being especially clingy. The airplane was fine. Gavin was squirmy and got pissed off at one point because we put his sweater back on him, but other than that he's a model airplane citizen. On the way to Florida was a bit easier since he did sleep at least part of the way.
Gavin's favorite part of our Florida experience was the golf car. Marilyn (his granny) and Paul live in The Villages. It's a golf car community, which means that just about everyone tools around in golf cars. There are regular cars, too, but golf cars are just as prevalent. The Wal-Mart even has a golf car lot with tiny parking spaces. I knew that Marilyn would want to take Gavin in the golf car and I was initially against this until I saw that her golf car has seat belts. He sat on my lap or Stacy's lap and we put the belt over both of us. I mean, yeah, if we got hit by a car we'd probably all die, but at least he wouldn't fall out while it was moving, which was my main worry. But he LOVED it. After the first time he rode in it, every time he saw a golf car (and this was a very frequent occurrence) he would point and say, "Ungh, ungh" (which is his multi-purpose grunt at the moment, usually used to call your attention to something he finds particularly interesting). When we got in the car to go to the airport on our last day there he cried because we weren't getting in the golf car. Since The Villages is about an hour and a half away from the airport, I am very glad we didn't take the golf car there.
Gavin also got to feed and pet horses while we were there. I was not there for this experience as I was on my way back from Clearwater with Amanda. But Stacy took lots of pictures and videos, which I will one day upload once I get a new computer cord because mine is, sadly, melting (I'm using my sister's computer right now. Thanks, Christine!). No doubt next year he'll be asking us for a pony and a golf car for Christmas.
For this Christmas I gave Gavin a toy vacuum. Huge hit. My mom gave him a toy mop, which came with little lady gloves (which he will probably never wear. Sorry, Mom). Also a hit. What can I say, my son has a thing for cleaning. To say he got lots of stuff is an understatement. Puzzles, books, toy cars, stuffed animals, and a djembe. Laura is hell bent on making him a drummer. Truth be told, he likes to drum.
Throwing toys, etc. has become a problem. He likes to clear off shelves of books by sweeping them to the floor, some time selecting individual titles to chuck more purposefully to the floor. I took his puzzles away this morning because he was trying to sweep them all off the side table in the living room and onto the floor. So he knocked my water bottle onto the floor instead. It's like he instinctively knows how to be a brat. This goes hand in hand with his toddler resistance tactics, which he no doubt learned by watching YouTube videos of the WTO meetings in Seattle. This morning he reached out and swatted at Emma, more smacking than petting, all the while looking right at me like, "I know what I'm doing is not okay and am waiting for your reaction." I took his hand and guided it along her side saying, "Gentle, gentle. We are gentle with animals." This is something he already knows. But limits are so much fun to test.
Yesterday at my dad's every member of our family was in the same room at the same time which rarely happens any more since Christine lives in LA and Brian lives in Arizona. All of us together is quite cacophonous (i.e. insane) and he did very well amidst all of the noise and confusion and dogs (my dad's, Louie the pug and Rocket and Chihuahua mix, and Amanda's pug-mix Charlie). While we were opening gifts I managed to hit Gavin in the face with a box of stuff from my dad. Gavin was on my lap and I pulled the box closer to us and misjudged the depth between Gavin and the box. He wasn't managed or anything, but he did cry. Not the best way to endear him to Grandpa Mike. Or me. My dad was hell bent on Gavin playing with this sound block puzzle he gave him as soon as Gavin opened it but Gavin was busy playing with these little trucks my dad gave him so I had to deny my dad this one joy in life. I think my dad sometimes forgets that Gavin isn't even two years old and just doesn't have the ability to take on some many things at once. He's easily distracted even when people aren't shoving brightly colored boxes at him filled with toys. That he was upright (meaning not curled up in Stacy's arms sucking his thumb, one of his preferred states of being) and having fun was a miracle in itself. Let's not push it.
Gavin has a doctor's appointment this morning. I don't know if he'll get more shots or not. I should probably know this. I know he'll be weighed and measured, though. My estimate is that he'll be three feet tall and somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 lbs. And then we're going on Jerry Springer.
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