Friday, Dec. 23: Dead Santa

Here in Florida at Granny Marilyn and Grandpa Paul's house Gavin is sleeping in a "big boy bed," which is a full size mattress on the floor of the bedroom across the hall from the one Stacy and I are sleeping in. Every other time he's been here he slept in a Pack N Play but he's way too big for that now (he's been on several scales since we've been in FL including a big old-timey scale at Publix and on each one he's weighed about 37 lbs.). This is the first time Gavin has slept in a room by himself in a bed he can actually get out of. It's gone well, though he has locked himself in the room several times now. The first time he did it he'd woken up from a nap and I thought I heard the thump of Paul's shoe organizer which hangs on the back of the door (the room is a spare bedroom but is where Paul has a lot of his clothes). I put my ear to the door to listen because I wanted to be sure Gavin was awake before I went in. And then the door knob rattled a little bit, but when I tried to open it I could not. I knew this wasn't good, but I also knew that he's a smart guy and could probably unlock it since he's the one who locked it in the first place. I called to Stacy, "Hon, Gavin's locked himself in the bedroom." My goal was to inform her, not to panic her, though her first course of action was to run past me out the front door saying, "I'll go check his window!" It took me about 1 minute to talk Gavin through it: "Turn the little button in the center of the door knob, Bud." His response? "Gonna." The knob wiggled a bit more. I repeated my instructions and he repeated his response. Then he did it and I opened the door before Stacy could throw a rock through the window or something.

I have a bad habit of expressing my impatience to Gavin by saying, "Are you going to_________, or what?" Now, that blank can be filled with anything from "put your shoes on" to "pick up your trucks," it doesn't matter. It's always something he doesn't particularly want to do. And so each and every time he answers, "What." He's too smart for my own good.

Paul let Gavin use a band saw, which nearly gave me a heart attack. Not by himself, and completely supervised, mind you, but still. If you ask Gavin about it he will excitedly tell you that he cut a diamond. A diamond shape, that is, out of paperboard. I am going to have nightmares about Gavin losing fingers for months.

Stacy is giving Gavin a bath right now and I can hear them singing a song in Spanish (Stacy is doing most of the singing) and they keep inserting names of people Gavin knows. They've said, "Mama D" twice, and both times my name got big laughs. I have no idea if this is a good thing or not.

So the Santa lie has begun. I'm not sure how I feel about this. What's the benefit of deceiving Gavin for the next five or so years of his life? I know it's all in fun (right?), but I don't claim to get it. I don't remember when or how I learned that Santa wasn't real, so I can't say if it was hard news for me to take. I remember in elementary school that Courtney Perna believed in Santa longer than anybody. But now judging from her Facebook profile, she's successful and glamorous, so it must not have damaged her that much.

Actually, Stacy, Gavin, and Marilyn saw Santa die last night. They were driving around in the golf cart to look at Christmas lights (I opted out, offering to clean the kitchen instead, that's how much I like Christmas light tourism). At one house there was quite the display, the yard decked out with a life-size Santa on a little stage in the middle of the yard. He even danced and sang "Jingle Bells" and Marilyn swears he almost looked real. That is until he danced himself off of his platform and fell face first into the ground where all singing and dancing ceased. Stacy and Marilyn laughed and laughed but Gavin put his thumb in his mouth and announced that he wanted to go back to the casa. Can't say I blame him.

Friday, Dec. 9: Seriously, David. No.

Two of Gavin's favorite books right now are No, David! and David Gets In Trouble by David Shannon. Personally, I'm not such a big fan of these books. In case you're unfamiliar, David is a little boy who does many naughty things and in No, David! is scolded by his mother and in David Gets In Trouble repeatedly denies culpability for his transgressions. In the later book, there is a page that features David trotting off to school clad in underwear and his mom trailing behind him waving a pair of pants. The text on the page reads, "I forgot!" Taking our cue from this book, Gavin and I have played the "I forgot" game in which he runs around the house in his diaper and I chase him with a pair of pants. It's good fun. Sadly, most of the things Gavin has now seen David do repeatedly in the book have inspired imitation of bad behavior. Especially chewing with his mouth open and putting his finger in his nose. I do not find thesethings cute. I could, perhaps, find all of these things forgivable if it wasn't for the profoundly disturbing image of David cowering under a sink with a bar of soap crammed in his mouth next to the text, "But Dad says it!" It's just such a horrible thing to do to a child. I've taken to skipping over that page altogether when Gavin and I read the book because I don't want to have to explain it to him. For one thing, he doesn't even know what swearing is (not that he hasn't heard some in his time) and he certainly wouldn't understand that the consequence for repeating something he heard a grown-up say in front of him is to be forced to suck on a bar of Irish Spring. I keep meaning to glue the pages together so that we never have to look at it again. I know I can't shield Gavin from every unpleasantness on earth, but, like I said, I don't want to have to explain to him that David is eating soap because his parents are assholes. 

And I know I would have to explain it because Gavin is hard core into the "Why" stage right now. I know this is something that a lot of parents find frustrating. On the one hand, it's amazing that your child is so curious about the world and so interested in learning about it and is looking to you as his guide. On the other hand, it'd be nice to have something to eat without having to answer questions like, "Why you eating hummus? Why you eating pita? Why you eating hummus and pita together? Why you fold it [the pita] like a taco? Why you dip it? Why you not use a plate?" Jesus, kid, let me live my life. 

He really doesn't miss a thing. In fact, Gavin asks me questions about things that I didn't even realize I did or said. For example, we were in the car and a truck pulled in front of us without much warning and I must have made some kind of verbal response because I was surprised and did have to put on my brakes quickly. A moment later Gavin said, "Why you say?" And I said, "I didn't say anything." A beat later, "Why you say, 'Oh'?" I assured him that I said no such thing. It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about and then I realized that it must have been when the truck non-incident happened. So I just said I made a noise of surprise because the truck wasn't watching where he was going. This answer apparently satisfied him, though I assure you there have been many more moments like this. I apparently make a lot of unintentional noises. 

While he can't read yet, Gavin can consistently recognize a handful of capital letters. G for Gavin, D for Mama D, S for Stacy/Shelly, M for Mommy, L for Laura, A for Amanda, H for Henri, B for Brian (in order of consistent recognition). So that's A B D G L M O S. C'mon Words for Friends addicts. What you got? Gavin is especially good at recognizing G. As 'tis the season and all, we've been getting a lot of packages via "the P.S. man" and he's able to look at the shipping label and figure out who the package is for based on whether the first name starts with a G, D, or S. He gets very excited when it's a G package. 

It seems like everyday Gavin is singing a new song. He sings a lot now, which I love. His singing is pretty tuneless and no-frills, but he's often very serious about it. Perhaps it's his low register. Favorites include "Ring Around the Rosie" (which I've taught him to say is about the Black Plague, even though that may not actually be true), "Old MacDonald" (often I hear him singing to himself, "With a moo moo there, and a moo moo there, and a moo moo over there"), "Itsy Bitsy Spider" (he sometimes sings this in Spanglish), "Wheels on the Bus" (the Kyle Andrews version is quite tolerable), and some other songs that I don't quite recognize. He sings a Chuggington song, which basically consists of him singing, "Always be Chuggington," over and over. It isn't the theme song and since he's only ever watched the show in Spanish, I don't know where he might have heard or learned this song. I hope he made it up because that's pretty adorable. 

So, yeah, Chuggington. And Thomas the Train, and La Casa de Mickey Mouse, and Cars. All of the overly commercialized cartoon franchises I hoped he would somehow be "too cool" for. But he isn't. And I'm not. Stacy and I just went on a trek to the Payless store in Northland Mall to get him a pair of Rayo McQueen light up tennis shoes. He loves them. Which means it's that much easier to get shoes on his feet in the morning, which makes it all worth it. I hope. In potty related news, he's peed several times on the big potty, now, though no poo. We thought we'd let him test run his big boy underpants (Thomas the Train underpants, no less) in the house. He was very excited and was showing them off, with our encouragement, to Granny and Paul via Skype. Unfortunately he peed in them as we were all oohing and ahhing over what a big boy he was. He was pretty upset. Hopefully this doesn't set him back to infancy. The other day Gavin and I went over to Megan's and he played with Olive. At one point Ollie was trying to show him some kind of toy but she couldn't reach it. I heard Gavin said, "You need help?" Presumably Ollie said yes because he said, "I'll help you." He then moved a box of toys and an end table to get to the toy and he handed it to her saying, "Here you go, Ollie." It was a super sweet moment. The kind that make me think, "Looks like we must be doing some things right."

Thursday, December 8: Bake me a cake as fast as you can

Gavin and Stacy had a fight last night while I was at work. According to Stacy, she wanted him to take a bath. He did not want any part of that. Strife ensued. He cried all the way through his bath, he didn't even want any toys. Then after his bath he refused to get out of the tub. And then he wanted toys. And he wanted a bath. Except he had already had a bath. This didn't go over well with him. Stacy got him out of the tub, dried him off and wrestled him into a onesie and a diaper, which he tore off. She put a diaper on him again, snapped up the onesie, and let him cry it out in his room. After 10 minutes she came back and he was curled up in the fetal position on the chair in his room, sans diaper. He'd torn it off again, but instead of throwing it on the floor in a fit of rage, he put it back in the diaper drawer (I can't help but be a little proud of this detail). He told Stacy, "Go away. I no want you put diaper on me." So Stacy went away. When she came back again 10 minutes later, he was happy to see her. The drama wasn't over, however, as the pajamas he picked out ended up not fitting "over his fat thighs," as Stacy put it. And he didn't have the patience to play fitting room. He cried again. Then he wanted to play monster trucks, but there was no time. Then he wanted to read two books (his usual bed time routine) but there was only time for one. He wanted colors and pingüinos, which he actually picked out that morning and told me those were the books he wanted to read before bed. Counting Colors has been a long time favorite, while And Tango Makes Three is a new favorite. It's about gay penguins and is based on a true story. It's a sweet book (not the indoctrination tome that the anti-gay right suggests). He finally settled on the pingüinos and Stacy managed to get a very exhausted Gavin to bed.

Not napping was the culprit. He did not sleep at la guardería yesterday. He's been napping less and less there and occasionally not napping at home. Though he napped really well for me on Tuesday. So maybe he's starting to grow out of napping. Though, like I said, he sleeps well at home. Maybe la guardería is just too exciting.

Speaking of which, tonight is the la guardería holiday party. I told Gavin there would be cookies there and he's pretty stoked. Right now he's making a cream and pear cake. It's pretend, mind you. But he got a box of puzzles and toys in the mail from the great Claire Callow in the South Pole (a.k.a. Georgia) and he is in love with the toy cake set. I mean, he giggles as if it's a real cake. He doesn't want to put it away. Ever. Because it's always cake time now. He sings "Happy Birthday" to himself and invites you to have some cake with him. Except if you sing too he'll tell you to stop because he's already sung. Then you have to wait forever to get a slice of cake. It goes in the oven (his book case, actually. He has a really great imagination), candles and all, then it's too hot to eat. Then it's too cold. Then he wants to change the toppings. Then it'll go back in the oven. Then he'll take it out and try to slice it and he takes his sweet time with that and usually once he cuts the cake he'll tell you "don't take it" because he wants to put it back together again. Anyway, my point is, his dedication to his pastry chef craft is admirable, but if you have a real hankering for cake you'd be better off going to the store and buying your own. Unless you're the only one home with Gavin. Then you've got to stay home with him. Seriously, be responsible. Let the kid have his cake even if you can't eat it, too.

Monday, Dec. 5, 2011: Good morning vómitos

Gavin woke up in a puddle of puke this morning. Earlier yesterday Stacy said he told her his stomach hurt and he didn't seem to be feeling all that well last night during his bath. In fact, at one point he said that he needed to poop and so we got him out of the tub and put him on the potty (he did not go in case you were wondering. Ever since he got his Rayo McQueen potty seat he has been much more enthusiastic about potty usage and we've had a good run with pee, but no poo). I was kneeling in front of him, drying his legs and feet. He looked, to me, like he was going to puke and so I told Stacy, who was standing to the side near the tub, "Trade places with me. I think he might puke." She did, though she did say something about that not being fair or nice or something. Though she also understands that I don't do puke very well. And so, this morning, when I walked into his room I heard a rather cheerful sounding Gavin and saw the outline of him on his back in his crib peeking out at me through the semidarkness. And I smelled puke. And so I said hello to Gavin and told him I needed to turn a light on and then said, "Babe, you need to get in here," because I knew what I was going to find. And sure enough. Vómitos. Stacy and I divvied up the duties. She got the pukey sheets and blankets into the wash, I got the boy into the tub. He wasn't particularly thrilled to be getting a bath in the morning. For one thing, it's totally not his routine. For another thing, he'd just had one last night. But once in the tub he was in good spirits. He seemed to feel fine, in fact, so after he was scrubbed and dubbed I got him dressed and he and Stacy headed out the door just like any Monday. I am hoping he really is all better and there is no vómitos at day care.

Of course, my biggest concern is what made him throw up in the first place since that's not normal and all (I am also concerned, judging from the contents in his crib, that he is not chewing his food enough before swallowing it). He is not a kid who pukes much. In fact, he hasn't thrown up since puke-a-palooza last year. But that was a lot of puking. And this is (hopefully) just once. Maybe it's the beginning of an annual ritual: the early/mid December vómitos. Though I hope not. But he is, after all, Stacy's son and she gets sick every year around the holidays. Like clockwork. She is usually sick for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Not puke-sick, mind you, but she gets a nasty cold. So now maybe I have a family full of holiday sick-o's. Ho ho hurl.

Sunday, Dec. 4, 2011: Snip, snip

Getting chopped at the Chop Shop.

After the haircut.

Gavin got his first haircut yesterday. We took him to the Chop Shop and Chaz did the honors. Gavin was not into it. In part I think this was because Chaz didn't really give him time to warm up to him. He was just like, "Come here, kid!" which made Gavin cling to Stacy. In fact, Stacy ended up having to sit in the barber's chair and have Gavin on her lap. Don't get me wrong, though, Chaz was very good with Gavin and quite patient. I would take Gavin back in a heartbeat. Well, not really that fast since it's only been a day. But once he needs another haircut, anyway. Laura recommended the Chop Shop to us. It's where she gets her hair cut. She insisted they are great with kids and their website says so, too. I think it's a good sign that the photo on their site accompanying the kids haircuts info is this. I'm happy to say that Gavin did not cry much, though, like I said, he didn't welcome the process. I also did not cry. Though I do admit I was pretty anxious about the whole thing. I had to focus on the technical details of the event like getting him there on time and taking pictures to cope. As a result, I was a little left out of the haircut itself. Stacy called the shots from the chair and she and Chaz didn't consult me much. I took a lot of bad photos. But Gavin looks adorable, and that's all that matters. We got him what Stacy called a "puppy cut," meaning he just got a trim. A little off the sides and back and front. Chaz "took some wight off," as he put it so that Gavin's hair would curl up more easily. Losing the curls was not an option for us. So he looks very much the same and also totally different to me (Laura said so, too). Same handsome dude, though. Still the King of Curls.

On our way into the toy store.

Before we got his haircut we got donuts and ate them at Aunt Laura's house. And after the haircut we went to the toy store. So a pretty bitchin' day for a 2 and a half year old.

We also put up the Christmas tree yesterday. Stacy hasn't been feeling well so she and Gavin were down for a nap and so I decided to be industrious and get the tree out of the basement. We have a fake tree, which is super lame. I don't know why anyone thought, "Hey, let's make a pretend tree that people will put up for a month and then have to store in their houses for the rest of the year." Dumb. But, we have one. My mom gave it to us. So, you know, free. Last year we didn't put it up at all because we were in Florida for Christmas and Gavin was young enough that he didn't know the difference. This year he is starting to get wise to the idea of Santa Claus, although half the time he identifies Santa as "Noah," especially in olden-days Santa pictures. He has a Noah's ark toy and a book (gifts from my mom and from my dad's fiance Michelle, respectively) and, well, Noah is an old white guy with a beard. He and Santa could practically be twins. Though Santa would have to be the fat twin. You don't exactly get pudgy living on an ark during a flood, or whatever.

Anyway, I dragged our old tree out of our dusty crawl space and up stairs to our living room where I set it up all by myself. Keep in mind, this is a pretty good indicator that I love my family (in case anyone was in doubt) because I do not like putting the Christmas tree up. At all. Decorating it I'm okay with, but putting it up and taking it down I H-A-T-E. But Gavin seemed to really dig the tree he saw at my mom's house the other night and he also saw a giant tree with toys underneath it in the lobby of Campbell Ewald when we went to pick Laura up from work a couple of days ago. In fact, "toys under the tree" is his favorite part of having a tree. He has no concept that they're supposed to be new toys or even that they're supposed to be presents for him. Right now he's perfectly content to put his toys under the tree. Cars, mostly. I suspect it will be difficult to keep him from opening presents once we start putting them under the tree no matter who they're intended for. Between Gavin and the cat, who has a ribbon fetish, wrapping presents almost seems like a waste of time. Gavin showed no interest in putting ornaments on the tree, but Stacy and I had fun. We've got a lot of ornaments with good memories attached to them like when we put up, say, the purple six-armed monster, which was our tree-topper back when we lived in our apartment and had a very small table top tree that was actually just the top part of a larger fake tree (where the rest of that tree was I do not know). It did not stand up on its own and so I fashioned a tree stand out of an empty butter tub filled with styrofoam. I then covered the butter tub using a pair of these black satiny underwear that had candy canes or holly or something all over them that I had only worn once and did not find worth wearing again (they weren't comfortable, but yes I washed them in case you had even a fleeting question in your mind). I told Stacy not to tell people they were underwear, but then I told everyone anyway because I thought it was funny. I would totally still use holiday underwear as a tree skirt for our current tree. But thankfully I do not wear underwear that big.

Wednesday, Nov. 9, 2011: I can't stop looking at this photo of my handsome teenage son

On the left, school picture from 2010. On the right, school picture from 2024. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to pass out from the cuteness.

Tuesday, Nov. 8, 2011: Gaga family tree

Gavin's getting over a cold. Guess who gave it to him? I'll give you one hint: me. Naturally I feel terrible about this, but like I suspected, it is nearly impossible not to swap germs with a two-year-old, especially when hand washing and personal space aren't their strong suits. He missed two days of daycare. Stacy stayed home with him on Wednesday and I stayed home on Friday. I had to cancel my class, but Amanda Carver was also in town so it was actually a nice coincidence. I got to spend more time with her and she got to spend more time with me and my sick kid. She's a lucky girl. Somebody please give her a job as a nurse in Chicago, thanks.

Gavin was in pretty good spirits all through his cold, though he didn't like the coughing. That made him cry a lot of the time. We kept him plied with whiskey honey and lemon shots. I'm kidding. Though my mom did give those to my brother once when he was a baby with an earache. I don't know how old he was, but he was old enough that he was supposed to go trick-or-treating with us but not old enough so that missing out on it phased him much. He was much more concerned about physical pain at that point.

So apparently I am a descendant of Lady Gaga, as is everyone in Gavin's family. For some reason "gaga" has been Gavin's latest verbal craze for the past week. At first he seemed to be using it as a form of baby talk since he's been doing that whole toddler consciously acting like a baby thing (which is totally normal). But now he uses it a lot, in many different contexts. This includes tacking on "gaga" to the end of everyone's name. This afternoon I heard him talking to himself in his crib and he was listing the names of the people in his immediate world and gaga-fying them. "Mommy Gaga, Mama D Gaga, Laura Gaga, Jamie Gaga, Amanda Gaga, Grandma Kathy Gaga, Granny Gaga, Paul Gaga." He repeated a few on his way down the line (lists are hard to remember), but that's the basis of our Lady Gaga family tree.

Did I mention that Gavin was a bombero for Halloween? He absolutely loved his costume and he took his job very seriously.

Pee was had on the potty the other day. People keep asking how potty training is going and my usual response is just to say, "It's going," which is not only because of the pun. But really, it's a slow process and we're not pushing it. We encourage him to sit on the potty when we go to change him and find he has a dry diaper. He sits on the potty before a bath. And we've discussed the concept of pooping on the potty when he feels ready ("I'm not ready," he said. One of his biggest concerns is that it will be a mess. "Will it be messy?" he asks if you suggest or mention the idea). But the day before yesterday was a day for small potty victories. Gavin declared that he wanted to pee on the potty, went into the bathroom and took off his pajamas, tried to take off his diaper but needed a little help, and then proceeded to say, "I'm busy" and usher us out, closing the door. A few minutes later, while I was in his room folding clothes only a few feet away, the bathroom door opened and Gavin held out the basin of his potty chair to Jota because Jota had been waiting expectantly at the door, and said, "Jota, I peed." And sure enough he had. He even carried the basin into the kitchen to show Stacy and best of all he didn't spill a drop. It was very exciting for all of us.

I know I talk about poop too much and I am sorry for that. But as I told Laura today, so much of my life is, literally, shit these days.

Tuesday, Oct. 25, 2011: Sick limbo

I'm sick today and hanging out with Gavin. I have a cold. Lots of sneezing and coughing and not being able to breathe, the whole bit. Good times. Before Stacy left for work this morning Gavin asked me, "Feel better?" Alas, I did not, but I thought it was super sweet that he asked and even seemed genuinely concerned. We went to CVS today (I know how to show a toddler a good time) and I told him that Mama D feels junky, which he promptly repeated. He repeats everything now. Before his nap after a particularly loud sneezing bout, he again asked me how I was feeling. I told him I was still feeling junky and he said, "Has medicine?" And I told him that, yes, I had already taken medicine. And that's where he decided to leave it, perhaps feeling there was nothing more he could do, and asked me to read him a book about caterpillars. Which I did. I am hoping that he magically doesn't get sick but I can't exactly say I limited my exposure to him. It's kind of hard to quarantine yourself when you're in charge of a two-year-old.

It was picture day yesterday, which is very exciting for me. I'm pretty sure that school pictures are in the top five reasons I even had a kid. At left is his photo from last year. Quite dashing, thank you very much. When I saw this photo I literally screamed. Again this year we sent him in a button down shirt and black tie. Because school photos are serious business, mister. It is my dream that we will somehow get him to dress in this same combo each and every until he graduates, though I realize that he might decide otherwise as he gets older. They say pick your battles. Maybe I will barter with him, tell him he can get a piercing or a tattoo if he'll just wear the shirt and tie. While I was getting him dressed in the morning he decided to flip out while I was pulling a t-shirt over his head -- all was fine, all was calm, until halfway through the process he decided that he wanted no part of wearing a shirt -- and he fell and scraped his cheek. I felt terrible, but it was totally his fault and I'm not going to lie, part of me wanted to be like, "Dude, that's all you," but I did not. But scrapes and bruises right before picture day are a rite of passage I suppose, and I can always Photoshop it out. Which I probably won't do. Probably.

I have mentioned before how well behaved Gavin is at daycare and how jarring it is to get a bad report, but I'm afraid that picture day was not a shining moment in Gavin's behavior. He was apparently great during the pictures, but nap time was a no go. He's skipped naps before, so that's nothing to be alarmed about, but this time he decided that if he ain't napping ain't nobody napping. Shelly said he would not stay on his cot and that he kept screaming and being very rude. And, of course, part of me thinks, "Hey, this is normal toddler behavior," and another part of me thinks, "I'm raising a sociopath." I'm hoping for the former. In fact, I'm betting on it, all my chips in. Still. Both Stacy and I have spoken to him about staying on his cot during nap time and if he doesn't want to sleep how he can read a book or talk to Shelly quietly, but he cannot keep his friends awake because they really want to sleep. We'll see how it goes tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, it's Gavin's Halloween party at daycare. A party I will, regrettably, be missing since I have to work. This saddens me a great deal. This evening I am getting his costume together. He's going as a fireman. I put together his little hose backpack and I'm washing his black pants on which we're going to put yellow trim with electrical tape. On Friday there's a Halloween party for kids at the library so we're going to that, too, so I can see fireman Gavin in action. Even if I didn't have to work I'd probably be too sick to go to a Halloween party at a daycare anyway. I mean, that would make me an automatic asshole. So I've got my wellness goal set on Friday. No matter what, I'm going. No offense, but I've seen some of the folks who hang out at the library. The bar is simply lower there for contagion.

Friday, Oct. 14, 2011: Sleep clinic

I am extremely well rested this morning. Gavin slept in our bed last night and everyone knows that a 2-year-old is the best way to get a good night's sleep. Or, actually, the opposite of that. In fact, now that he's left for daycare I'm seriously considering going back to bed. Note that Gavin doesn't usually sleep in our bed. In fact, he doesn't ever sleep in our bed. Until last night. For whatever reason he woke up howling at about 1 in the morning. I had just fallen asleep as I was up late grading essays. Stacy shot out of bed and ran into his room, which is totally breaking protocol for crying at night, but she was barely awake and was functioning on "Mommy instinct," as she said. I followed a couple of minutes later to find out what was going on. Gavin had quit crying, but was still weepy. Unfortunately, he got the idea that he was up for good and one of the first things he said is, "I want to play with toys," in a sleepy but determined way. He also announced that he was "no tired," which was a lie. I think I was the one who suggested he get in bed with us mainly because I so badly wanted to go back to bed. Also because it was pretty clear that as soon as Stacy put him down he would lose his mind -- and did I mention I really wanted to go back to sleep? And so Stacy brought him into the bed and in a very sad, near-tears voice he said, "I no tired," and I pet his head and said, "We know, buddy. It's okay. You don't have to be," which miraculously calmed him down. He was totally ready to argue his point but once I snuffed that fuse he fell asleep rather quickly. After it was clear he was asleep Stacy moved him off of her chest and into the middle of the bed where he proceeded to hog nearly all of my side, leaving me pressed up against the cold wall for most of the night.

This morning after he was out of bed I asked him where he slept last night he climbed back onto the bed and said, "Right here" and touched the middle of our bed. He didn't just point to the bed, he didn't just say, "In cama." He claimed territory. I fear bed time tonight, though I already made it clear that he would sleep in his cuna.

"I yike it," is a new favorite phrase. The other day he told me, "I yike yights," meaning, of course, that he likes lights. I don't remember what prompted this but it was adorable. He also says "I like it" much like the kid in the old Life cereal ad says, "He likes it!" so I think about that ad all of the time now.

Hitting is Gavin's new thing. Trying to cause pain to others is apparently all the toddler rage (no pun intended). I, for one, do not like it, especially since I was the recipient of two of these blows this morning. He hit me on top of the head with a ball while I was putting his shoes on. And so I reached out and poked him in eye. I showed him. Actually, the eye poking was an accident. I was reaching my hand up toward the dresser to help me get up since I am old and either he moved or I misjudged the distance between us due to my exhaustion. So it totally seemed like I was "fighting back." But that is not what happened and needless to say I ruined a perfectly good "teachable moment" since it was me doing the apologizing and the hugging instead of him.

Also fun? Crashing. His scooter. Himself. His bike. He's obsessed with "crashing." This morning he tried to crash his scooter into both Jota and Henri. On Tuesday we went to Yates Cider Mill with Megan and Olive and we all took a walk on the dirt trail after we'd had some cider and donuts. About ever five feet Gavin would throw himself to the ground and say he'd crashed. Thankfully I was able to talk him out of the full body crash where he'd end up prone in the dirt on his belly. But I gave up trying to stop the knee crashes where he'd end up on his knees in the mud. Those pants may just be ruined, but we had fun. He loved chasing Ollie (she's a little older than him, but not much) and he is also in love with Megan. He wants to go over her house every day and if I ask him a question like, "Who are we going to see today?" or "Who do you love?" Megan's name is frequently mentioned. Only Jamie and Mommy get more frequent mentions. He even told me the other day that he liked Megan more than me, though it serves me right for asking a toddler such a question.

Tuesday, Sept. 27: Bikes and trucker donuts

Nom nom nom.

Gavin and I walked up to the rail yard near our house to see the trucks and while we were there some truckers gave us donuts. Well, more specifically, a trucking company had a booth set up in the parking lot promoting the fact that they are hiring (imagine that, someone in Michigan is hiring!) and one of the guys from the booth called over to us, asking if we wanted a donut. It all looked pretty up-and-up and so I said to Gavin, "Do you want to get a donut from a trucker?" and Gavin said, "Yes." The guy came over with two full boxes of Tim Horton's donuts. He opened it and held it out to Gavin and said, "Which one do you want?" and Gavin simultaneously reached out and said, "This one" and grabbed a pumpkin spice donut and went to immediately devour it before I prompted him to say thank you. I don't think Gavin's mind even registered that there were different kinds of donuts to choose from in that box, I think he was more like, "Oh my a whole donut must act fast before I wake up from this dream." Before we knew it the man had given us both boxes of donuts and we were off to our neighbor Megan's house because she has four kids and goodness knows I don't need a dozen+ donuts in my house unless I want to weigh an additional 50 lbs. before the weekend.

Hard core biker.

In other news, Gavin can ride a bike. When we went over to drop off the donuts, Gavin wanted to ride this black and green bike that actually came from one of the other neighbor's trash and now belongs to Megan's kids. Or perhaps one of them in particular, but I'm not sure who. Looking at the bike it's not a big mystery why it was in the trash to begin with. The back tire is completely bald. The pedals provide forward momentum about 70% of the time. The rest of the time the bald back tire just sputters against the sidewalk with no traction. It is a bike that is seemingly designed (or, I suppose, damaged) to frustrate children learning to ride a bike. It has training wheels, so that's a big help. Gavin has been trying to ride this bike all summer but the whole "pedaling" thing eluded him. But no longer. He rode that bike all the way to the park and back this evening. Granted he'd need a very gentle push start when the back tire would stall, but that wasn't his fault. He actually has a little bike of his own that our neighbor Maurice gave to him. It's a nice little bike, and it looks brand new. But it doesn't have training wheels and the tires need air. I didn't even think he'd be able to ride it until after the winter so I hadn't even gotten him training wheels yet, but now it's imperative that I pimp his bike out pronto. And get him a helmet. Because I suspect he'll be quite the speed demon once he's using a bike that's not on its last legs.

Sunday, September 25, 2011: Smoothie operator

Gavin was using the blender all day today to make smoothies. Yes, it was the real blender, no it was not plugged in. He was helping Stacy in the kitchen and saw her use the blender. I'm not sure what she was blending, but she used the "pulse" function, so when Gavin was using it he would imitate the noise by making a series of loud grunting sounds. Ungh, ugnh, ughn! Beforehand he would advise us, "Cover ears. This loud," all no-nonsense. He has a taste for the exotic flavor combinations, at least when it comes to smoothies. He made Stacy a sausage-kiwi one and later bacon-apple for Jamie. To "cook" he uses his little plush foods we got for him at Ikea. He mixes the fruits and vegetables, some of which are very much standard or at least understandable smoothie fare (carrots, apples, cucumbers), with his breakfast foods set, which is the reason for his "gourmet" flavors.

In other news, Gavin can read now. Okay, that's not exactly true, but he can and does recognize the capital letters G and D and O on his own. He's been recognizing G for awhile, it is, after all, for Gavin. But I've been pointing out that D is for Mama D. We were reading a book this morning that featured capital Ds and Gs on the cover and though I can't remember what book, he pointed out the Gs and I pointed out the Ds. Later, after his nap, while reading Go Dogs Go with Stacy, he pointed to the G and said, "G for Gavin," and then he pointed to the D and said, "D." Stacy's mind was pretty blown.

What can I say, I have a smart kid. A big kid, too. The other day at school I ran into a co-worker who has a son in Kindergarten and she said that her son weighs as much as mine (somewhere around 32 pounds). I predict he's going to be a big'un. The other day Amanda and I were in the van after coming home from my Aunt Michaelene and Cousin Umeko's house and Gavin had taken his shoes and socks off on the way home. I saw his tiny balled up sock on the ground and I told Amanda that when I find little sweatsocks around the house I think it's adorable, but it won't be long before I'm finding sweatsocks far larger than mine on the floor and instead of, "He's so cute," I'll probably be more like, "Goddammit." But for now, I'm soaking up as much as I can while he's still incapable of such transgressions.

The other day while climbing into his booster seat at the kitchen table he said, "I'm a big boy." He also uses "maybe" a lot. Like today he heard an airplane flying overhead while we were eating dinner and he said to me, "What's that sound?" and then he answered his own question saying, "Maybe airplane flying in sky." I agreed that's what it sounded like. And then he said, clearly not done with his guesses, "Maybe airplane go down." Maybe, man, but we don't want to be anywhere near here if that does happen. Granted, he doesn't mean an airplane crash, though that's what it sounds like. When we were on our plane home from Mexico, during landing Gavin kept saying, "Airplane go down" which only sounds more and more alarming when it is said over and over.

Stacy and Gavin went to the store this afternoon to buy real recipes for real smoothies. So hopefully my household will soon have smoothies made of real fruits and veggies instead of felt slabs of butter, a plush apple half and some fake sausage.

Sunday, Sept. 4, 2011: Slam dunk

So, Gavin got baptized today. In the Catholic Church, no less. It's a long story. I'm not Catholic. Stacy's not Catholic. In fact, we aren't even Christian. Don't believe in God, in fact.

So how and why did this baptism thing happen? My dad. He believes in that stuff and it was important to him and Stacy and I were all, "Sure, why not?" If it makes my dad sleep better at night thinking that Gavin is now on some e-vite list to some future party in the sky then why not do it? My mom also believes in that sort of thing and so even though she's not Catholic, she is happy about it, too.

It's kind of a delicate situation, because I know that baptism is a big deal for some folks, surely for the priest that did Gavin's, and so I don't mean to come across like a total dick about it. To each her own and all that. I'm just saying that Gavin's baptism wasn't exactly life changing or earth shattering, but more of a way to do something that my dad feels is meaningful for his grandson. So that's that.

Gavin's response to getting baptized? "Gavin hair all wet." He thought the whole thing was pretty cool.

Like I said, I'm not religious. I did grow up going to an Episcopal church. I should really say I was forced to go to an Episcopal church and that I hated every second of it. In any case, I still know "The Lord's Prayer" by heart and was able to recite it today, no problem. As a poet, I appreciate the prayer as verse. It is quite nice, actually. When I was a kid, whenever I heard, "Our father who art in heaven," I always pictured God (a dude with a beard, naturally) with an easel in front of him holding a paintbrush just, you know, doing art. Arting (verb). Hallowed by thy name and all that.

Friday, Sept. 2, 2011: 14 years later

Yesterday was my anniversary. Stacy and I have been together 14 years. While Gavin was eating his lunch yesterday I told him, "I'm taking Mommy out to dinner because it's our anniversary. Can you say, 'Happy Anniversary'?" He said, "Happy," and then paused for a long time, a look of serious consideration on his face, and then he said, "birthday."

I took her to The Whitney because that's where she said she wanted to go and where she probably thought I would not take her. After 14 years I can still surprise my wife by exceeding her low expectations. That's a recipe for marriage success.

I also bought and wore a skirt for the occasion, as well as a sleeveless shirt to go with it. When Gavin got up from his nap I said, "Help me pick out what to wear tonight," and while Gavin and I gazed into my closet, it was readily apparent that I didn't have anything to wear. I knew Stacy would be disappointed if I looked like I was just going to work, so I told Gavin, "Get your shoes on, we have to go to Old Navy." Because Old Navy is where you go when you need an outfit to wear to The Whitney on a date with your wife after 14 years together. Obviously. (In my defense I had a strong suspicion that they would have a skirt that was not too ostentatious for my tastes -- basically if a nun wouldn't wear it I probably wouldn't either -- and I know how their clothes fit me for the most part). If you are ever looking for a last minute date outfit I highly recommend you take a two-year-old shopping with you. I'm not actually kidding. Knowing that Gavin had a limited attention span for lady-clothes shopping made for a Supermarket Sweep style shopping experience. I found a skirt and a top in less than ten minutes, tried them on in four, and purchased them and was out the door in under 20 minutes. There was no time for overthinking or hemming and hawing about things like "size" and "fit." I ended up with an XXL skirt I needed to secure around my waist with rope and an XS blouse that I needed to Ace-bandage myself Yentl-style in order to squeeze into it. I'm kidding. Both the skirt and the shirt fit and Stacy was impressed. So basically I bought myself an outfit for her anniversary present. Like I said, I'm pretty much the best wife.

Saturday, Aug. 20, 2011: Bears on the pot

Gavin has been 2 years old for an entire month now. He celebrated today by peeing in the potty. I was out shopping and Stacy decided that it would be a good idea for her and Gavin to kind of camp out in the bathroom while he sat on the potty. She plied him with juice, Spanish videos, and books and she even painted his toenails blue (the same blue as my toenails, in fact, and Stacy's. The family that pedicures together stays together, after all). After sitting there for 40 minutes (voluntarily, mind you. Stacy did not force him to sit on the pot for almost an hour, she just provided entertainment while he did), he peed. It was during the video, in fact, a Spanish-language Mickey Mouse cartoon on YouTube. According to Stacy, he didn't even look up, though he did announce a couple moments before, "Pee coming." And so it did. There was a triumphant dumping of the potty chair into the big toilet and flushing ceremony afterwards. I'm sad I missed it.

I also missed Oso pooping on the big potty. Oso is one of Gavin's stuffed bears and thankfully Stacy did a fantastic job of documenting the event:

Oso and Gavin, side by side, at a "business" meeting. (Get it? Ha. Potty humor. I apologize.) Note that Stacy has put plastic wrap on the toilet seat to support the illusion of Oso's impending defecation. Please also note that this tableau is one of the reasons I love my wife so much.

 

Oso has success. Gavin is quick to help get the toilet paper as Oso's arms clearly won't reach our brand new toilet paper holder (Gavin broke our old one off the wall about a year ago and we just put a new one up. Keep your fingers crossed for us).

Gavin gives Oso a wiping hand.

Oso, continuously stymied by his lack of opposable thumbs, not to mention his his overly eager helpmate, cannot flush the toilet himself.

As Oso is new to the world of toilet usage and cannot be trusted not to use the entire house as his personal bathroom (he is, after all, a bear), it is important that he don a diaper after his bathroom success.

 
Oso and Gavin are clearly an inspiration to us all.

Thursday, Aug. 18, 2011: When nature calls

We went on a family walk this evening: me, Stacy, Gavin, and Henri. Gavin was really interested in Henri's tree sniffing and soon started imitating him. When Henri peed on a tree, Gavin squatted on the lawn and said that he, too, was peeing. He took another look at Henri and stuck his leg out to better approximate Hen's peeing posture. Gavin then wanted to stop and smell every tree, a level of tree-sniffing devotion even Henri does not have. Stacy explained to him, in Spanish, that there were a lot of trees and we didn't have time to sniff all of them. I understand Spanish well enough to have understood such a thing, but I could never say it myself, if that makes sense. Eventually Henri had to take a dump and Gavin once again squatted down on the grass and said, "Gavin poop." When Hen was done I used a baggie to clean up after him (because I am a responsible dog owner, thank you very much. Definitely a pet peeve, pun very much intended, when people don't clean up after their dogs). Gavin then wanted a bag to clean up his own poop (which, to be clear, did not exist. We aren't letting Gavin bare squat on our neighbors' lawns or anything) and carry along with him just like I was doing with Henri's. He was very proud. I, too, was proud because if you're going to shit on someone's lawn you should at least have the decency to clean it up. That's the kind of son I want to raise. We're clearly training him to be the next Bear Grylls, though vegetarian.

Last night I spent a good deal of time reading books to a naked Gavin as he said on his little toilet. He kept saying, "Poop coming." But it never did. Stacy repeated this activity this evening. He's showing more interest than ever in the place where his bodily functions and our indoor plumbing collide. Earlier today he wanted to put his poop from his diaper into the toilet, which I let him do despite my desire to say, "Oh, hell no." I figure his interest is good and this is a step in the right direction. Like I said, ever since we went to Mexico and he got to see Brenden in potty-trained action, his own interest in the process is piqued. As his parent, it's my job to foster and encourage that on one hand, while on the other hand play it cool and not be too demanding or judgmental so he doesn't end up growing up with insane poo and/or pee related fetishes or phobias. Being a parent is fun! Everything is so low stakes.

August 16, 2011: Mexico survivors

Lesson from today: having a baby in your arms will help you get out of a parking ticket. Gavin and I were making our way to our car after sharing a very romantic dinner at Pronto! when I saw a parking attendant approach our car. I knew we were cutting it close to the meter time, but you try making a 2-year-old eat a grilled cheese sandwich faster. I yelled, "Hey! Wait! We're here! We're right here!" The woman turned around and looked at me with a degree of contempt that may or (more likely) may not have been warranted and then she looked at Gavin and turned to walk away saying, "It expired five minutes ago. Next time put more money in." As if I don't know how a parking meter works. But anyway, thanks lady. I would have acted more grateful but you didn't really give me a chance.

So, yes. Mexico, specifically Cancun, more specifically Riviera Maya. The #1 vacation destination for toddlers. To go alone, obviously. But like the total drags we are, Stacy and I accompanied Gavin on his international vacation adventure. We even brought along his Aunt Amanda. At the resort we met up with Lisa and Brenden. Stacy and I got sunburns. End of fun vacation story. Thanks for asking.

We've been back for a week now. I have been very neglectful about posting here and I apologize. But as I've said before, I don't know how anyone with children has time to write about having children. And I only have a child.

Vacationing with toddlers is unlike any other kind of vacation experience, for better and worse. Brenden is only 6 weeks older than Gavin, so in real life they're the same age. Getting to see the boys play together and getting to Lisa were my number one reasons for wanting to go on this trip. That it was in Mexico was not very important to me, though it did make my life a bit more difficult since the moment he heard we were going to Cancun my father flooded my inbox with links to news stories about the drug-related violence in Mexico and has tried to convince me that we'd all end up kidnapped and/or killed. Had we chosen, say, Orlando, Florida, my guess is that he'd have cooled it on the beheading stories.

But we were not kidnapped or killed, thankfully. Well, we were held hostage once, but not in a drug-cartel-related way. In fact, we had a good time. Not at the hostage taking, mind you. And it wasn't even a hostage taking, it just took a really, really long time to check into our hotel after we'd traveled for a long, long time to get there and then once we had our keys some lady from the hotel tried to sell us on some kind of time-share breakfast under the guise of "I'm here to help you" and we were all so tired, and so sweaty and Gavin had a full load in his pants and had been an angel all day, completely amazing, but he was starting to lose his patience as were we all but we were too polite to tell her where to go, plus we were fried from a day of traveling and didn't even have the sense to say, "Look lady, shut it. You can shove your 90 minute breakfast, your "free" t-shirts and tote bags, and your purple eyeshadow."

I should mention that before we even got to our rooms more than one employee there made a comment about how we were traveling without our husbands. So did Ms. Purple Eyeshadow, though to her credit she was very cool with the news that we were married to each other. Stacy and me, I mean. Neither of us is married to Amanda. She just loves to take vacations with other people's toddlers for some reason.

Lisa and Brenden arrived later that evening and luckily sidestepped the "hard sell" arrival. Brenden and Gavin were so, so cute playing together. For some reason Brenden never called Gavin by his name, he referred to Gavin solely as "Baby," though we did coax him into saying "Gavin" near the end of the trip ("Go-bin" is how he pronounces it), though he still never called Gavin anything but "Baby."

One of their favorite things to do was hide in the closet in the room and then come flying out screaming. I'm sure our neighbors loved us.

Gavin really blossomed as a swimmer while we were there. Brenden is already fearless when it comes to the water. He swims several times a week at home. Watching Brenden helped Gavin get over his trepidation a little bit. He went from only wanting to put his feet in to "jumping" into the pool (I say "jumping" because Gavin's jumps were much more controlled than Brenden's. He would jump to someone and that someone would catch him before he really could go under the water or anything. Where Brenden just jumps in, bobs under and happily comes right back up. They boys both had life vests on whenever we were in the water, by the way).

Brenden is also potty trained, so one of the highlights of the trip for Gavin was getting to watch Brenden go to the bathroom. Brenden was just as enthusiastic about this display. It got to the point that when he would have to go he would yell, "Baby! Baby! Pee!" alerting Gavin to what he was going to miss if he didn't hurry up. Gavin also got to see him poop while sitting on the toilet. Gavin's interest in using the toilet went up quite a bit while we were on vacation. He never actually went on the potty, but he would request to sit there a lot. Since we've been home he's shown more interest, as well, though nothing has happened output-wise. Tonight, in fact, he sat on his little potty while I read him four books. He didn't do anything, though he kept saying, "Poop coming." This is how I spend my evenings, folks. Actually, I can't complain. Gavin is an awesome kid and if there was anyone I'd want to sit next to while they took a dump it's him. And only him, actually. That list is really short.

Vacationing with toddlers means you really can't stay up late because you have to go to bed early. And working out a nap schedule. This was tricky. We had adjoining rooms so when it was nap time the boys would go down in one room and we'd stay in the other. Lisa is a genius and brought her baby monitor and that really helped. The first afternoon, we tried putting the boys down at the same time in their separate cribs, but that turned into a disaster. Okay, not a disaster, since that implies whatever my dad was envisioning would happen on this trip. But the boys would not settle down. Seeing each other was too much. Brenden had a really rickety old crib and he wanted very much to stand up in it and rock it back and forth. Gavin snagged the Pack N Play which was much more sturdy, though it did have a lot of holes in the mesh. Stacy called several times about getting another Pack N Play to replace the crib, but there was never one available. In fact, she guessed that some other guest probably left the Pack N Play behind and they didn't actually have any more. Stacy's Spanish is really good (she got a lot of compliments) but there are some things she doesn't quite know what to say. Like there was a problem with our sliding door that we needed someone to look at and she didn't know how to say "sliding door" so she had to say something like "the wall that is a window that is a door." In any case, Lisa didn't want Brenden to shake rattle and roll in that crib, so she opened the door and sternly told him to knock it off and lay down. When she came back we heard the tell-tale squeaking of the crib again and then we heard Gavin say to Brenden, "No! Lay down!" Brenden didn't listen. It took a long time but eventually we were able to get them to go to sleep by putting Gavin's crib in the bathroom, which made me feel a little neglectful, even though it wasn't. But once the boys couldn't see or hear each other all was well. Gavin slept in the bathroom during the rest of the trip.

There are some perks to traveling with a kid. We breezed through customs in Mexico, for example. Mind you, we waited forever in a super long immigration line (Gavin, again, was so, so good. He even fell asleep through part of it). But once we got to customs they put us in a special family line and they didn't even screen our bags. Nothing. Stacy showed the lady our form she'd filled out and we were waved through. I suppose I could be offended. "What we look too mom-like to be worth screening?" But I'm not. We got similar treatment on the way home, too. They guy said, "Any food?" And I said, "Some snacks." And he said, "Any meat?" And I said no and added that we were vegetarians. "Any vegetables?" he asked as he was waving us through. I'm telling you, we would be the perfect drug mules. We could have had dope strapped to our butt cheeks and no one would have known. Still, I'm glad we didn't risk it.

We did wait in a long immigration line once in Detroit. Gavin was good, but on the verge of losing it as he had had no nap and was getting hungry. "Gavin pull suitcase," he kept saying, insisting on pulling one of the two red roller bags we took with us (and into which I was able to pack everything because I am a totally obsessive compulsive packer which equals AMAZING AT PACKING SUITCASES. Thank you, thank you very much). In fact, "Gavin pull suitcase" was an oft-repeated refrain during this trip. He loves to pull the suitcase and taught Brenden the joys of pulling our suitcases, which they did throughout our hotel rooms. Amanda even developed a pitch perfect imitation, which I think really says something about Gavin's place in the family now as Amanda imitates everyone and she does it quite well. Often quite scathingly. It's her thing. Packing suitcases is mine. We all roll in our own ways.

Gavin talks so much now and he's got a unique sounding little voice. His inflections are interesting and he tends to really draw out some words, especially the last word or syllable in a sentence: "Gavin pull suitCAAAAASE."He also says "right here" a lot, which sounds like "rye hee." Laura and Jamie have decided that he sounds exactly like Miss Swan from Mad TV. Because they are obviously racist. But not far off, actually.

Another perk of traveling with a kid the family restroom. Oh, how I love it. Before I had Gavin it wasn't something I'd even noticed before. But at the Detroit airport the family restrooms are generally very clean and you get to be in there all by yourself. Or all by your family, anyway.

Speaking of family, I just read this tidbit on Yahoo News: "Britney Spears’s ex-husband [Kevin Federline] has started a family with a special-education teacher." Sounds like a good move. I hope he gets all of his special needs met. It's kind of frightening to think that this guy has at least 5 kids walking around with his DNA though. For their sake I hope they really prove the biology=destiny theory wrong.

Saturday, July 23, 2011: First name basis

Gavin called me "D'Anne" today instead of Mama D (which he, of course, pronounced "Dirt"). He was in the bath tub swimming (yes, swimming. After a bath now he likes to flop onto his tummy in the tub and kick his feet and swim, occasionally putting his face in the water -- usually just his chin and mouth) and when I walked into the bathroom he looked at me and said, "D'Anne" (pronounced more or less like "Dan"). I said, "What? D'Anne?" and he said it again and then he pointed at Stacy and said, "Mommy." I was genuinely surprised and something along the lines of hurt. "You mean "Mama D?" I asked him. He nodded. "Say Mama D," I instructed. He said "Dan" again. So basically I'm his step-dad now. I'm kidding. I knew he would one day stop calling me "Dirt" (which hasn't actually happened yet. After his bath he told Stacy he wanted to "say hi Dirt"). But being called "Mama D" is just more endearing than being called "D'Anne." By my son, I mean. Everyone else just stick with "D'Anne," please.

I just got off the phone with Lisa and she informed me that her son, Brenden (who is 6 weeks older than Gavin), has 87 pairs of shorts. This does not include his 13 swim trunks. That's 100 short sleeved pants. And these are all pants that currently fit him, not pants that he's outgrown or that are too big yet. Mind you, Lisa loves clothes, but this is kind of insane. For comparison, Gavin has 10 pairs of shorts and 3 swim trunks. Considering how quickly kids get clothes dirty, this actually feels kind of like a bare minimum to me. Between food and dirt and markers and whatever else he manages to get into we are constantly washing his clothes. It's also perhaps an important distinction that Lisa lives in California where the shorts-wearing season is much, much longer than in Michigan. Still. Even Lisa admits she kind of went overboard in the shorts department.

Brenden also has a copious supply of underwear. He's only 6 weeks older than Gavin but he's already potty trained. This is really impressive in my opinion. We still haven't had any more potty usage over here. Gavin is very much still in diapers (totally normal, mind you). Lisa said he has about 40 pairs of underwear. She literally bought them in this quantity thinking that they would be essentially disposable. Well, some of them, anyway. "Because I had anticipated accidents," she said. Specifically poo accidents. "If we're out and about I'm just going to cut them off of him and throw them away. Once he was out of diapers, I put a pair of scissors in the diaper bag and three or four extra pair of underwear." For the record, Brenden's never had a poo accident and he's only had 6 accidents since he traded diapers for underwear at Easter. I'm really curious to see what will happen when we go to Mexico (we're going to Cancun with Lisa and Brenden) and Gavin sees Brenden being all Mr. Cool Potty. Maybe he will be inspired to try it himself. Not that I exactly want to be potty training Gavin while we are on vacation. Whatever happens, we'll roll with it.

While Brenden is advanced in the potty area, Gavin talks more than he does. So clearly the boys have different priorities when it comes to expending their energy.

Gavin's birthday was the 20th. I was really stressed out about it, but it went off rather well if you don't count him falling backwards and landing on his head on a tile floor. And then shortly after that a younger guest in a high chair doing essentially the same thing after his sister tried to climb the back of his high chair. No major head injuries were sustained, however. It's ironic that both of these incidents happened while we were eating since we held the party at Pump It Up in Auburn Hills. The first hour and a half was spent running and jumping and bouncing and sliding and aside from some painful slide burns (sustained mainly by the adults), no one got hurt until we sat down to have snacks and cake. Gavin fell off the picnic style bench when he tipped his head back to drink water from a cup. The sound of his head hitting the linoleum was one of the worst things I have ever heard (if only he had been wearing the inflatable Pump It Up crown he was given!). I was on the other side of the room when it happened. Stacy was behind him but it happened very fast. It was difficult not to be mad at her and not to be mad at myself as if I would have been able to stop it had I been sitting by him. In any case, he cried very hard, ice was applied to his head, and then he ate cupcakes and was happy. He had so much fun playing beforehand. He's a really brave little dude. He climbed up to the slide himself and went down by himself. He scaled the little climbing wall thing like a champion spider monkey. He got a boost the first time from our friends Megan and Jim, but after that he was all about doing it himself.

We went to a Pump It Up party around Christmas last year and Gavin loved it, which is why we decided to do his party there. For one thing, last year it was really hot and rainy on Gavin's birthday and I didn't want a repeat of last year (a planned outdoor party turned into an indoor party in our very small house) especially since our kitchen still is not done. I did definitely notice the wear and tear that has been inflicted on the inflatables since then. But the kids didn't notice or care. They all had a lot of fun. The next morning Gavin said, "Go Pump Up again." He mentioned nothing about the head bump.

We also raised about $100 for ReGAP, Retired Greyhounds As Pets, the organization Laura adopted Emma from nearly 14 years ago. If anyone still wants to donate to them in honor of Gavin and in memory of Emma, it's never too late.

Monday, July 18, 2011: Birthday countdown

In an effort to maintain my sanity, I let Gavin watch a DVD about trucks. In said DVD, two unaccompanied children, a boy and a girl, wander around a truck stop and befriend a random trucker they do not know. The boy mistakes the trucker for his father who runs the place (yeah, sure, little boy. Your dad is The Boss). Then they're in the cab of a truck with this guy. The girl keeps saying things like, "Look how big it is!" Soon they're talking on the CB to a trucker named Big Rig Betty. "But she's a woman!" the girl says and the boy is like, "Duh!" So it's got that going for it. But when they get in the sleeping cab with this guy I'm like, "Yikes. Gavin and I are going to have to have the "Don't get into a sleeper cab with strangers" talk soon.

While watching the show, Gavin looked over and me and said, "Gavin. Watch. TV. Trucks." Lord help me.

Thankfully Gavin's attention span is not long enough for him to be a couch potato. Soon after the kids make it out of the sleeper cab alive (spoiler alert) he lost interest and wanted to use the new little gardening rake I bought him at WalMart (shame) to rake the couch. Go for it, dude. Rake the couch.

I am a little stressed out right now. Gavin's birthday is in two days and I have nothing ready for his party. Our kitchen is not done yet, so that puts a wrinkle in my plan to make amazing cupcakes to impress the other parents and thus prove my own self worth. My mom would no doubt let me make them at her house. I just don't know when I can make them. Time is not on my side.

My biggest problem right now is Henri. Poor Henri has always had a screw loose, but ever since Emma passed he has been beside himself. Crying or barking pretty much constantly. Stacy refuses to be alone in the house with him because he will not stop barking. I can't really blame her. But that means I can't leave to go anywhere unless I take him with me and since it's been like 90+ degrees there's no way I can leave him in the car and obviously most places of business aren't thrilled with the idea of having a dog there. Unless I want to buy all of my cupcake making goods at Pet Supplies Plus. Which I don't. Unless it comes to that.

Thursday, July 14, 2011: That's a big ass baby

Okay, okay, okay. So a woman in Texas (of course) gave birth to a 16 pound baby boy. It's all over the news. Or it was all over the news, I'm a couple of days behind. People are freaking out about the baby's size, but what interests me is the baby's name ("I don't care about a big baby" -- one of three choices in the NY Daily News readers' poll): JaMichael. His parents, Janet and Michael, apparently love their names so much they couldn't think of a third one. It's a little unfair that Janet only gets "Ja" while Michael gets his whole name in there. But that's the patriarchy for you. And the baby is, after all, a boy. Their girl name was no doubt MaJanet.

Had Stacy and I (a.k.a. D'Anne) decided to combine our names our son would be named St'An.

I also love the NY Daily News headline: "Massive, 16-pound baby ... smashes newborn records." It brings to mind a mega King Kong sized baby pounding his fists into giant filing cabinets. "Me no like papers!"

In reality JaMichael isn't smashing anything. He's a newborn. He's crying and eating and filling his diaper. He's just as helpless as any other newborn, it's just that this bundle of helplessness comes in a package twice as large. Good luck, Janet and Michael. And remember, lift with your legs!

Wednesday, July 13, 2011: Everything is broken

AirTran broke our stroller. We gate checked it in Orlando and when we got it back in Detroit it only had three wheels. Well, to be fair, all four wheels were there, it's just that one of them was snapped off and sitting on top of the folded stroller. The journey from Florida to Michigan was long, so while this wasn't the end of the world, it came at a pretty crappy time. Gavin was very wily on the plane. He would not sit still for anything. He was pretty quiet all things considered, but trying to keep a toddler still for two hours is next to impossible unless he's asleep. And Gavin definitely wasn't. He'd slept the hour and a half ride to the airport so by the time we were on the plane he was in prime GO mode. Stacy and I were both tired out from the trip and I had cramps to boot (thanks, uterus!) so by the time the plane landed, we were all very ready to get off the plane ("Off airplane," Gavin said repeatedly). We even arrived a couple of minutes early! Unfortunately the plane at our gate was running behind and had a mechanical problem to boot so we had to sit on the jetway. After about 20 minutes the captain said that lo and behold there was another gate we could go to so everybody get back in your seats here we go. Alas, when we got to the other gate some part of the big hallway arm that attaches to the plane from the airport wasn't working and we ended up sitting there for another 20 minutes or so. And then the broken stroller.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Once the plane landed and they said we could safely use our cellphones I called Laura as she was picking us up. She was there, ready to get us. Then she asked me, "You guys have a car seat, right?" This question confused me as there is a car seat in Stacy's van and in my car and she was presumably in one of those vehicles. I say something like, "No, we don't. Why?" and Laura says, "Well, there's no car seat in here and I assumed you had brought one." WTF? Why would the van be sans car seat? I relay this info to Stacy and she, too, is confused. Stacy's brother was the last person to use our van so Laura says that maybe he took it out. "Why would he take it out?" Laura does not know. Stacy also does not know. In fact, she acts very perplexed. Laura is very unhappy about this situation and says something like, "Well, all I know is that there's no car seat here" and I tell her that we absolutely need one and that not having one isn't an option ("It's illegal," Stacy interjects). Well, I'm not going back to get one," Laura says. And no one was happy and she hung up.

When I ask Stacy why the hell would her brother would take the car seat out of the van she says, "I don't know. Let's call him." And so I do. And he says that yes, he did take the car seat out of the van and it was in the house. When I ask why he did that he says that Stacy told him he could because he was taking a bunch of guys to a bachelor party or something. I turn to Stacy. You told him he could take the seat out? And she says, "Yes. He was taking a bunch of guys to some bachelor party or something." Okay, I say to Dave, "Thanks for the information" or something like that. I am crabby at this point. And I am very confused about my wife's confusion about the car seat scenario. I am trying not to be mad at her. I want to get the hell off of this plane. Gavin is being a very good boy, as patient as he can manage.

To make a long story longer, Jamie, further cementing herself as a superhero in Gavin's estimation, drives to our house, gets the car seat, and takes it up to Laura. Then they wait for us, which takes forever because not only do we have to go to the Official TransAir Office of Baggage Sadness (we go down to the office and a sign on the window says, "Go to the ticket counter." We go to the ticket counter, they say, "You have to go downstairs." It's an awesome time. They are going to fix or replace our stroller. We left it there. My money is on never seeing it again), but by this point we are so tired and delirious that we can't find Laura. But then we do and Gavin gives Laura a hug and is super glad to see both of them (did I mention that we're carting around all of our luggage and a toddler without a stroller? I highly recommend doing the airport without a stroller. Everything is better done at the walking pace of a two year old). We make it home at nearly 9 p.m. Gavin takes a bath. He goes to sleep. All is right in the world.

Well, not really. I should make clear that Laura is usually a lot less "to hell with you." We must cut her a lot of slack. While we were gone in Florida her dog, and our dear friend, Emma passed away. She was almost 16 years old. I wish we'd been there to say goodbye and to help Laura. We'll all miss her very much. Even though she left wet nose prints on everything and everybody hated it (even Gavin who, when she'd touch her nose against his arm, would say, "Emma. Nose," in a very unhappy way). Here's a photo of her and Gavin back in January. I'm pretty sure that's the most recent photo we have of the two of them. It's hard to get a dog and a toddler to pose for a photo by themselves, let alone together. In any case, Emma will very much be missed by all of us. Especially Laura. I wish the whole car seat thing hadn't happened because I hate that we added to her stress. But she said Gavin's hug made up for it. He also gave her a Chick-O-Stick. Her favorite. Send her some.

Sunday, July 10, 2011: Reunited and it feels so good

Well, Gavin's still incredible. This isn't a surprise, but after being away from him for a couple of days coming back to him heightens that fact. When Amanda brought me back to my mother in law's house Gavin had just finished getting his diaper changed. When he saw me he said, "Dirt." And then when he saw Amanda he said, "Man." And then he ran around like a giggling maniac with Stacy chasing him. And then I picked him up and twirled him around and Stacy and Amanda chided me because of my back. Which is feeling pretty good today. Not having to pick up a 30+ Lb. kid for a couple of days did me good, I think.

Gavin told me that he and Paul fixed his horse (it needed batteries). He fed carrots to real horses. He went to a couple of parks. He got to ride in the golf car. His dance card was very full. After Amanda left I got in the pool with him. Marilyn and Stacy, too. Paul just dipped his feet in despite Gavin's requests for him to make a "big plash." Stacy, on the other hand, was game. Gavin and I counted to three in Spanish and Stacy did a canon ball into the pool. I wish I had photo of Gavin's face. His mouth was agape and his eyes wide. He couldn't have had a more perfect expression if he were a cartoon character. Stacy totally blew his mind. He knew that Paul could make big splashes. But his mommy could, too? Holy shit. Mind. Blown.

While at Amanda's I watched a lot of crime TV. Murder shows, we call them. I watched a couple of episodes of FBI Criminal Pursuit on ID Discovery. Both episodes featured a child as the victim. In one of them a 2-year-old's body is found in a plastic tub and it turns out the little girl's mother and step-father beat her to death over the period of an entire day. They even stopped to give her baby aspirin at one point. I still feel sick about that story. It made me want to get back to Gavin so I could hug him and kiss him. Which maybe sounds corny, but is the truth. What the fuck is wrong with people? Sometimes it's hard to have much faith in humanity at all.

But then there's Gavin. I have faith in at least 30 lbs. of humanity going for me. Being away from him was good for me -- for my back and for my sanity. I got to do things like read a book and sleep in. Amanda Carver is good for me, no doubt. But I hate missing things in his life. I wish I could have seen him feed a carrot to the horse. But Stacy told me she took plenty of photos and videos. Someday I'll upload them. I'm about a month behind in Gavin photos. It takes a lot of time and energy to chronicle the life of the most adorable little boy in the world.

Saturday, July 9, 2011: Pretty little girl

Well, it's happened three times now. Three different people have mistaken Gavin for a girl. This is probably our signal that it's time for a haircut. But I'm not willing to let go of his curly goldilocks yet. The most recent gender confusion happened the day before yesterday at the airport when the TSA agent asked, "Do you have a boarding pass for her?" Without even thinking I said, "Him." It was totally reflexive. It's not like it really mattered, but I was lightning fast in my correction. The other two "little girl" mix-ups happened when Gavin was with Stacy.Maybe some parents would be rushing out to their nearest Super Cuts to get their son a manly buzz cut or something, but not us. For one thing, any place that charges less than $10 for a
haircut can't be trusted with cutting your hair (Gavin will be having his first haircut at The Chop Shop, thank you very much.Here's a picture of him in the barber's chair there on a recent visit to watch his Aunt Laura get her hair cut). We're pretty much in love with his curls, so it's going to be hard when we finally have to let go. And it's not like we're gender fascists or something. I mean, I did, after all, buy him pink gardening gloves with the Disney princess logo on the back. And he does have pink broom and mop toys that he loves. It's true, I don't dress him in girlie clothes. I personally think that little girl clothes are often lame and ugly. Let's face it, if I had a girl instead of a boy, she'd be dressed in gender neutral clothes most of the time. Like Rosemary's daughter, Ella, who wore a lot of hand me downs from her cousin Will when she was a toddler.

As I mentioned, we were at the airport the other day. We're currently in Florida. Stacy and Gavin are at Granny Marilyn and Grandpa Paul's house. I'm at Amanda Carver's house, a couple of hours away. It's sad to be away from Gavin, but also nice. For the next couple of days I won't have to lift a 30+ Lb. toddler and hurt my back. But I also know he is having fun without me. Stacy better be taking a lot of pictures.

All week Gavin would talk about how he's going "on airplane" to "Paul's house." He really digs Paul. Gavin is majorly into dudes right now. Another thing that clashes with the Baby X story from my Women's Studies class in college.

Gavin was so good on the plane. He probably did bump the chair in front of him too often (in that chair was a man in a yellow shirt, and I explained to Gavin that the man was trying to sleep so we couldn't take the tray table down and put it up over and over and over again because that bumped his chair). Gavin rode on our laps because he's not quite 2. He wanted to sit next to us, not on our laps, though, which tells me he'll like having his own seat when we go to Cancun in August. Or at least I hope he will. That's a much longer flight than from Detroit to Orlando. But he's flown to California before, and that we a long flight, too. But he was a lot younger then. Just learning to walk. I can't believe how big he is now. Like a real boy. More than "like" a real boy. He is a little boy now. I still refer to him as a baby every now and then out of habit and because he is still my baby. He is not at the stage where that causes him mortifying indignation. Yet.

Thursday, July 7, 2011: On a jet plane

"G, Gavin. G, Gavin." Right now he's playing with a big foam block with the letter G on it and that's what he's saying. I held it up yesterday and said, "G is for Gavin." So clearly he's a genius.

Gavin and Stacy are off to Spanish class this morning at Bright Loritos. I'm staying home. My grand plan is to pay our bills and pack for Florida. Because we're leaving to go to the land of swamps and alligators this evening (and for the record, my sister lives here as does a big burly dude with a baseball bat, so don't get any ideas). I get to see Amanda Carver (not to be confused with Amanda my sister), which I am very excited about. Gavin is excited about this trip, too. When you ask him where we're going to day he says, "In airplane" and then "Paul's house." It is technically Granny Marilyn's and Paul's house, but Gavin is looking forward to sorting Paul's tools again like he did at Christmas when we visited last.

Another reason to sit out Spanish class is that I am injured. I sprained my thumb and I hurt my back. These injuries are not related. I was hoping this whole back pain thing would go away like it did last time, but it just got worse and worse over the 4th of July weekend and finally I asked Laura to take me to urgent care (with Amanda Carver's prompting, mind you. It had never occurred to me to go before she mentioned it). But, yeah, I was in pain and nothing was helping. The doctor there gave me some muscle relaxers and a prescription for Motrin (which I didn't fill because I already have Motrin at home, thank you). Then he had the nurse give me a shot of Toradol in my hip which hurt like a motherfucker. A little warning would have been nice. When she put the needle in I thought, "Okay, this isn't my favorite, but I can handle this." When she started injecting the Toradol I thought, "Okay, this burns and is really uncomfortable, but it's all going to be fine." And then when she finished the shot and the full dose of Toradol was in my ass I thought, "Holy shit, I am going to die." Like, seriously, I think being shot with a gun would possibly have hurt less. I immediately felt like I was going to puke and started to sweat like I'd been working out at the gym for hours. My clothes were soaked. The doctor advised me to sit down and he had his hands on my arms propping me up, I think, so I wouldn't fall down. At some point I fainted, but the doctor had already gotten me into the chair at that point. Then I kind of lunged forward in the chair which woke me up and the doctor said, "That's right, the pain'll bring you back." I said i felt like I was going to be sick and so the nurse was holding a big pink puke basin in front of me, and that's when I saw Laura poke her head into the room. She looked pretty freaked. It turns out the nurse had said to her, "You might want to go in there for moral support. She's not doing very well." That, to me, is the kind of thing you say when someone's dying, so Laura was kind of freaked out. Anyway, I didn't pass out. I didn't puke. I made it through the rain, as Barry Manilow would say. But I'm still in pain. I've got my little physical therapy exercises that the doctor printed out for me from the Internet. And I've been warned against trying to lift Gavin, which is what the doctor thinks triggered this whole thing. I'm not so sure about it, but I admit it probably didn't help.

Stacy and Gavin had gone off to Grandpa Gary's house for the weekend with Uncle Dave, Stacy's brother. So Gavin got some good dude time in. I swear he came back walking with a little machismo swagger. He's very into dudes right now (see: "Paul's house" above).

I hope this trip is painless (aside from my back and thumb). This will be Gavin's last time on an airplane without his own seat. He's not quite 2 yet, so we're taking advantage of that. He's a pretty good little dude at restaurants, so I hope that will somehow translate to airplanes, too. I'm hoping he'll fall asleep since it's an evening flight. Wish us luck.