Gavin has eaten "dinner in a fancy restaurant," as Sinead O'Connor would sing, two nights in a row. Gavin, Stacy, and I went with my mom to Anita's Kitchen last night. Falafel was a hit with Gavin, as was the carrot smoothie. The rest, not so much. Oh, wait. He liked the pita bread, especially when he had ketchup to dip it in. He's obviously not some kind of toddler gourmet. Tonight we went to Taste of Ethiopia and he really liked the sambosas, but when it got to the main dish his enthusiasm and interest waned far faster than ours did. Actually, that isn't correct. My enthusiasm and interest did not wane, which meant I had to eat a lot faster than I'd planned to. Mental note: bring puffs or some other kind of kiddie crack to all restaurant meals to tide Gavin over until we are finished. Until we want to be finished, that is.
So that bin of maternity clothes is still sitting on the floor of our living room. Gavin tries to climb on top of it. He also likes to take the lid off and wants to take everything out -- which would be tragic because it's all perfectly packed in there and I don't want to have to refold everything and put it back. Then again, I am a master of suitcase packing, so I suppose my skills could come in handy here. But I'd like to not add one more thing to do on my ever lengthening list of things to do these days. Whether Stacy keeps it or gives it to her coworker, I don't really care. I just hope it doesn't stay in our living room forever.
I've been asked why I don't want to have another baby many times. And I never know how to answer that, exactly, because I feel a little defensive about it. You never hear someone say to a parent, "Why do you want to have another baby?" It's just kind of assumed that people will have more than one. In any case, I've been thinking about it and I've come up with a good answer to why I don't want to have another baby: Because I don't want to. I realize this sounds an awful lot like the age-old parental answer, "Because I said so." But I've actually thought a lot about it. I mean, shouldn't having a baby be something one should have a lot of enthusiasm about? I wouldn't adopt another cat or even another dog if I didn't really, really want another cat or dog, so why would I have another child if I don't really, really want another child? There are a lot of things we have to do in life that we don't get a choice about. Parenting, for the most part, isn't one of them. I watch enough Teen Mom to know that having a baby is really best left to people who plan on and want one. I'm not saying I'm going to become like Amber or something and start hitting Stacy and screaming obscenities at her in front of Gavin. Nor am I saying I am basing my decision on Teen Mom. I have friends who say they knew they wanted to have more than one child from the get-go. I have friends who speak of an all-encompassing desire to have another baby. Another babies, even. I do not share this desire. At all. I love Gavin. I love being his mom. But there is zero desire for another child. As Amanda said, I would, certainly, love Gavin's little brother or sister. I wouldn't cast them out and be all, "Nope, sorry. You weren't invited." But there isn't going to be another baby here by accident. It's not something that we are going to create by accident Teen Mom style. It would take a lot of work and planning and money. And if I wanted to do that then there wouldn't be enough work or planning or money that could stop me. That's how Gavin came into this world, after all. So it's not that I'm lazy or that I hate being a mom or that I hate kids (though I don't know about some kids, like the one who purposefully pushed Gavin's head into the playpit alligator at the mall -- picture trying to press a tight-fitting lid onto a Tupperware container, then imagine that Tupperware container is my son's head. You get the idea). It just means that I feel what I feel, and a one-kid household is perfectly fine with me. I don't have a biological clock ticking out of control here. I don't have a need to breed. I have Gavin. And Gavin has his Mama D. And to me that feels quite perfect and very complete.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, Feb. 14, 2011: Limey
Stacy packed up a bin of maternity clothes to give away to a coworker this evening. It made her sad but that she said she couldn't think of a better thing to do with them. It makes her sad to give them away not because of the tens of dollars she could probably get for them at a maternity resale store, but because she will not need them again. Because I am mean and won't let her have another baby. At least that's the way my sister Amanda sees it. We went to the gym tonight and she gave me a hard time about not giving Gavin a sibling and about not wanting to get pregnant. It's very difficult to try to defend your desire to not get knocked up while walking briskly on a treadmill. But the fact remains that I have no desire for another baby. I love, love, love Gavin and am perfectly happy with him, thank you. Yes, I feel bad that he won't have a sibling. But that doesn't make me change my mind about having another kid. People keep telling me I might change my mind. And that's true. I might. But it's a very, very distant might right now.
"Ow. Eye." That's what Gavin said in between bouts of scream-crying when Stacy squirt him in the eye with lime juice at dinner. I was not home so I didn't witness this. She had made him some banana avocado smash and decided to put a splash of lime juice in it to help it keep longer or some Hints from Heloise kind of thing. She presented the lime juice container, one of those plastic lime replicas with the yellow cap, to Gavin so he could smell it. And while she held it under his nose she squeezed it ever so slightly to let some of the scent out, only she squeezed too hard and a spurt of juice went directly into Gavin's eyeball. Oh how he screamed, she said. Stacy took his cup of water and poured that into his eye, which he also didn't like, and then she just let him cry it out since the tears were helping to wash it away. He is now afraid of the lime juice container. Hopefully he is not blind when he wakes up tomorrow.
So many new words. It's hard to keep track any more. "No" is still one of his favorites. The other day Stacy asked him if "no" was his favorite word and he said, "No." He's using words to tell stories now, even if it's only one or two words. Like if you ask him if he had fun at Kids' Klub at the gym, he'll say, "Ball," because he played with a ball there. If you ask him where Aunt Laura is he'll say, "Down" because her bedroom is in the basement. He's also started "calling" Laura. He'll stand at the gate at the top of the stairs and he'll imitate my call to her, which is kind of high pitched and sing song. He doesn't have the consonants down, but he makes the sound quite well. It is pretty adorable.
Dude busted his lip open the other day playing in a laundry basket with Stacy (she was not in the basket, he was). He looked like he'd been sucking on a purple marker. It had just started to heal a little when he tripped into a chair at daycare and split it open again. Shelly wrote on his daycare report something along the line of, "These aren't good days for his lippers."
Speaking of Shelly, she's leaving the infant room at daycare. She'll be right next door in the toddler room, but this still makes me said. Gavin and Shelly get along really well together. But he'll still see her frequently and then next year when he's in the toddler room he'll get to have her again. So it shouldn't be too much of a shake-up for Gavin, but I am sure he will notice. Okay, I'm not sure he'll notice, but I think he will.
I'm on Winter break right now (otherwise known as Spring Break, but that's delusional. It is so clearly not Spring). Much needed. As is sleep. Which I must do now. Because Gavin will be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow as usual. I didn't get to see him before he went to bed tonight so I am looking forward to seeing him. Hopefully he's in a good mood tomorrow morning. That's the best. When he's happy it's damn near impossible to be unhappy.
Speaking of happy vs. unhappy, Gavin went to my Grandma Helen's funeral. He was really very good all things considered. And having him there helped me a lot. He was a handful, to be sure, but he was also a good distraction. I think babies at funerals are a good thing. Maybe we should start renting him out.
"Ow. Eye." That's what Gavin said in between bouts of scream-crying when Stacy squirt him in the eye with lime juice at dinner. I was not home so I didn't witness this. She had made him some banana avocado smash and decided to put a splash of lime juice in it to help it keep longer or some Hints from Heloise kind of thing. She presented the lime juice container, one of those plastic lime replicas with the yellow cap, to Gavin so he could smell it. And while she held it under his nose she squeezed it ever so slightly to let some of the scent out, only she squeezed too hard and a spurt of juice went directly into Gavin's eyeball. Oh how he screamed, she said. Stacy took his cup of water and poured that into his eye, which he also didn't like, and then she just let him cry it out since the tears were helping to wash it away. He is now afraid of the lime juice container. Hopefully he is not blind when he wakes up tomorrow.
So many new words. It's hard to keep track any more. "No" is still one of his favorites. The other day Stacy asked him if "no" was his favorite word and he said, "No." He's using words to tell stories now, even if it's only one or two words. Like if you ask him if he had fun at Kids' Klub at the gym, he'll say, "Ball," because he played with a ball there. If you ask him where Aunt Laura is he'll say, "Down" because her bedroom is in the basement. He's also started "calling" Laura. He'll stand at the gate at the top of the stairs and he'll imitate my call to her, which is kind of high pitched and sing song. He doesn't have the consonants down, but he makes the sound quite well. It is pretty adorable.
Dude busted his lip open the other day playing in a laundry basket with Stacy (she was not in the basket, he was). He looked like he'd been sucking on a purple marker. It had just started to heal a little when he tripped into a chair at daycare and split it open again. Shelly wrote on his daycare report something along the line of, "These aren't good days for his lippers."
Speaking of Shelly, she's leaving the infant room at daycare. She'll be right next door in the toddler room, but this still makes me said. Gavin and Shelly get along really well together. But he'll still see her frequently and then next year when he's in the toddler room he'll get to have her again. So it shouldn't be too much of a shake-up for Gavin, but I am sure he will notice. Okay, I'm not sure he'll notice, but I think he will.
I'm on Winter break right now (otherwise known as Spring Break, but that's delusional. It is so clearly not Spring). Much needed. As is sleep. Which I must do now. Because Gavin will be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow as usual. I didn't get to see him before he went to bed tonight so I am looking forward to seeing him. Hopefully he's in a good mood tomorrow morning. That's the best. When he's happy it's damn near impossible to be unhappy.
Speaking of happy vs. unhappy, Gavin went to my Grandma Helen's funeral. He was really very good all things considered. And having him there helped me a lot. He was a handful, to be sure, but he was also a good distraction. I think babies at funerals are a good thing. Maybe we should start renting him out.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Saturday, Feb. 19, 2011: Peace out, Grandma Helen
I've got this great photo of her and Gavin from Christmas 2009. They both look a little smug.
He went to visit her for Christmas 2010, too, but no photos were taken. This is due, in large part, to the fact that I had a ragin' cold at the time and did not make the trip. Stacy and Gavin went, though. Alas, on many levels.
I'm really glad that Grandma got to meet Gavin and that she didn't freak out about the fact that he has two mommies. Not all grandparents are capable of that, it seems. Then again, both of Stacy's grandmas, Ina in her 90s and Mary at 100, love Gavin, too. Sadly my Grandma Bea passed away before Gavin was born, though I have no doubt she would have loved him, too.
One day I'll show this photo to Gavin and tell him some Grandma Helen stories. She was, to say the least, a character. Very funny and very sweet and one of the most generous people I've known.
Gavin will be 19 months old tomorrow, by the way. So, you know, celebrate or something by doing something nice for your grandma.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thursday, Feb. 17, 2011: Hulkster
One week ago Gavin said his first sentence: "All done." He's a talking machine now. There's no stopping him. He's starting to repeat stuff when prompted and he'll even surprise me with things I had no idea he knew (like "thanks").
Two days ago he said "no" for the first time. It is now one of his favorite words. Well, when he says it, anyway. He does not like it when we say it. He's a pretty contrary little dude these days. He's livin' large, toddler style, all fits and fury. He's got the toddler rage thing down, that's for sure. Shelly told me on Tuesday when I went to pick him up at daycare, "He's getting a little temper." It's true. He crumples his face up and folds his arms if he doesn't get what he wants. Sometimes he lashes out. More than once he's turned around and hit Emma in the face. Or he'll grab a handful of Jota's fur and yank. I don't even know where this comes from because it's not like he sees Stacy and I do this (we only hit Emma in the face in private). At daycare last week he got pissed off because, as Shelly told Stacy, he was playing with a toy in a way that was unsafe, and when Shelly told him he couldn't do that he stopped for a second but started right up again. When she called him out for the second time he threw the toy and hit another kid.
So, basically, my son is a burgeoning sociopath.
Just kidding. I hope. As my mom said, all toddlers are sociopaths. But it's hard when he freaks out. Because there's no logic involved. I can't reason with him. And I can't yell at him either. Mind you, I don't want to yell at him. But when he's, say, thrashing like a maniac on the changing table while I'm trying to wrestle him out of a poo-filled diaper and into some fresh clothes for daycare so he can get out of the house on time and not make Stacy late for work, it's like, "Dude, your reaction is really out of proportion with what's happening right now. And also you're about to get poo everywhere. And I am hardly awake right now." That was this morning. Good times.
Granted, his little angry-face is adorable. The way he wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes and purses his lips. And then there's this little thing he does where it's kind of like he's wringing his hands. Seriously very cute. But also, well, bratty.
My M.O. remains the same whenever he's having a freak out: remain calm. Be "chill" as my students would say. So far the, "Gavin I'm going to sit here on the floor and read books while I wait for you to calm down" thing has worked beautifully several times. Granted that's not something I could do if he toddler-raged in a store or something, but so far so good in that department. I know it's only a matter of time.
He really wants to dress himself these days and, I have to say, he is just not very good at it. We've had some magical moments where he'll get a foot through a pant leg, but most of the time he ends up with both legs in one if he even gets that far. It's adorable, let's be clear, but it can be a problem when I'm in any kind of hurry. Mr. I Can Do It Myself has no respect for anyone's schedule besides his own.
Grunting is a new parlor trick. He likes to try to pick up heavy things -- or at least things that are heavy for him, like a gallon of milk -- and he totally grunts Hulk-style in a very exaggerated way. Stacy said that today he was trying to shovel snow using the grown-up sized snow shovel and he'd push it and grunt and then look at her to tell him how strong he was. He's a little brute. And cute to boot.
Two days ago he said "no" for the first time. It is now one of his favorite words. Well, when he says it, anyway. He does not like it when we say it. He's a pretty contrary little dude these days. He's livin' large, toddler style, all fits and fury. He's got the toddler rage thing down, that's for sure. Shelly told me on Tuesday when I went to pick him up at daycare, "He's getting a little temper." It's true. He crumples his face up and folds his arms if he doesn't get what he wants. Sometimes he lashes out. More than once he's turned around and hit Emma in the face. Or he'll grab a handful of Jota's fur and yank. I don't even know where this comes from because it's not like he sees Stacy and I do this (we only hit Emma in the face in private). At daycare last week he got pissed off because, as Shelly told Stacy, he was playing with a toy in a way that was unsafe, and when Shelly told him he couldn't do that he stopped for a second but started right up again. When she called him out for the second time he threw the toy and hit another kid.
So, basically, my son is a burgeoning sociopath.
Just kidding. I hope. As my mom said, all toddlers are sociopaths. But it's hard when he freaks out. Because there's no logic involved. I can't reason with him. And I can't yell at him either. Mind you, I don't want to yell at him. But when he's, say, thrashing like a maniac on the changing table while I'm trying to wrestle him out of a poo-filled diaper and into some fresh clothes for daycare so he can get out of the house on time and not make Stacy late for work, it's like, "Dude, your reaction is really out of proportion with what's happening right now. And also you're about to get poo everywhere. And I am hardly awake right now." That was this morning. Good times.
Granted, his little angry-face is adorable. The way he wrinkles his nose and narrows his eyes and purses his lips. And then there's this little thing he does where it's kind of like he's wringing his hands. Seriously very cute. But also, well, bratty.
My M.O. remains the same whenever he's having a freak out: remain calm. Be "chill" as my students would say. So far the, "Gavin I'm going to sit here on the floor and read books while I wait for you to calm down" thing has worked beautifully several times. Granted that's not something I could do if he toddler-raged in a store or something, but so far so good in that department. I know it's only a matter of time.
He really wants to dress himself these days and, I have to say, he is just not very good at it. We've had some magical moments where he'll get a foot through a pant leg, but most of the time he ends up with both legs in one if he even gets that far. It's adorable, let's be clear, but it can be a problem when I'm in any kind of hurry. Mr. I Can Do It Myself has no respect for anyone's schedule besides his own.
Grunting is a new parlor trick. He likes to try to pick up heavy things -- or at least things that are heavy for him, like a gallon of milk -- and he totally grunts Hulk-style in a very exaggerated way. Stacy said that today he was trying to shovel snow using the grown-up sized snow shovel and he'd push it and grunt and then look at her to tell him how strong he was. He's a little brute. And cute to boot.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Thursday, Feb. 3, 2011: Dance like everyone's watching
"Ball." He says "ball" clear as day now, often prompted by the sight of these particularly garish footed PJs he has, grey fleece adorned with footballs, basketballs, baseballs, and soccer balls. "Ball" he'll say as soon as the PJs come out of the drawer. "Ball," while he points to individual balls on the fabric. Even the oddly-shaped football doesn't throw him. They're all balls. But forget about it if you ask him to repeat himself. He's not into that kind of thing. Instead he'll revert to asking you to name what he's pointing at, insisting, "Dis, dis," which we believe means "this," as in, "What's this?" I've tried to play dumb, to trick him into saying it himself: "I don't know, Gavin, what is that?" But it doesn't work. He just looks at me like, "You know."
I also heard him say "keys" today as he plucked Aunt Laura's keys off of the table by the front door and very helpfully handed them to her. I also heard him say something that sounded alarmingly like, "I don't" when I said to him, "If you really love me you won't throw that on the ground" ("that" referring to a fistful of cooked carrot he held threateningly over the side of his highchair tray. In reality he said, "Drop," or, more specifically, "Ah drop," which basically is just his way of giving us a physics lesson. He threw a lot of carrots on the floor tonight (and carrots are one of the few things the dogs aren't interested in eating). And dumped his lentil soup out on his tray. And his yogurt-applesauce. And his cheesy spaghetti baby food. A lot of finger painting, not a lot of eating this meal. His pickiness frustrates Stacy, I can tell, but from what I understand this is normal. Also, Stacy gives him really healthy food that I think a lot of kids wouldn't exactly go, "Mmm, mmm" for ("Mmm, mmm," incidentally, is the sound he makes when he really likes something, or when he sees a picture of a banana or apple in a book). Like when Stacy gave him cooked beets and he was all, "No me gusta cooked beets, for serious," and Stacy took that to mean, "I am not hungry," rather than just interpret it as, "Dude's not into beets."
Aunt Laura taught him a new game in which Gavin puts a pair of sweatpants on his head. We took a picture of him doing this and when he saw the picture a day or so later he went and got the same pair of pants and put them on his head again. He's clearly a genius.
Mariah Carey has been on heavy rotation at our house lately. Gavin often demands music. He wants to bailar, which is Spanish for dance. Laura started this Mariah Carey kick, but I can't remember how exactly. Something about karaoke which led me to sing "Love Takes Time" and "Someday" to Gavin while he was in his high chair. He likes dinner time entertainment. So, yeah, if you're driving down our street and "Vision of Love" is a-blaring, you'll know it's dance time. Feel free to join us, so long as you understand that you can't compete with Gavin's moves.
I also heard him say "keys" today as he plucked Aunt Laura's keys off of the table by the front door and very helpfully handed them to her. I also heard him say something that sounded alarmingly like, "I don't" when I said to him, "If you really love me you won't throw that on the ground" ("that" referring to a fistful of cooked carrot he held threateningly over the side of his highchair tray. In reality he said, "Drop," or, more specifically, "Ah drop," which basically is just his way of giving us a physics lesson. He threw a lot of carrots on the floor tonight (and carrots are one of the few things the dogs aren't interested in eating). And dumped his lentil soup out on his tray. And his yogurt-applesauce. And his cheesy spaghetti baby food. A lot of finger painting, not a lot of eating this meal. His pickiness frustrates Stacy, I can tell, but from what I understand this is normal. Also, Stacy gives him really healthy food that I think a lot of kids wouldn't exactly go, "Mmm, mmm" for ("Mmm, mmm," incidentally, is the sound he makes when he really likes something, or when he sees a picture of a banana or apple in a book). Like when Stacy gave him cooked beets and he was all, "No me gusta cooked beets, for serious," and Stacy took that to mean, "I am not hungry," rather than just interpret it as, "Dude's not into beets."
Mariah Carey has been on heavy rotation at our house lately. Gavin often demands music. He wants to bailar, which is Spanish for dance. Laura started this Mariah Carey kick, but I can't remember how exactly. Something about karaoke which led me to sing "Love Takes Time" and "Someday" to Gavin while he was in his high chair. He likes dinner time entertainment. So, yeah, if you're driving down our street and "Vision of Love" is a-blaring, you'll know it's dance time. Feel free to join us, so long as you understand that you can't compete with Gavin's moves.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Tuesday, Feb. 2, 2011: Scram, Mr. Sicko
Gavin got sent home from daycare today. No, he wasn't "very hurtful to another child" again. He was sent home for being Mr. Sickly. No, he wasn't puking everywhere again. Thank god. But he has had a runny nose for awhile and today at daycare he woke himself up from his nap with a bunch of coughing. This was after only 50 minutes of rest, so even if he'd felt fine he still wouldn't have been at the top of his game. Shelly said he was really clingy and "not himself" so even though he didn't have a fever, she called Stacy to come get him. So they were home 30 minutes early today. When I heard the van pull in the driveway and saw that it was only 3:30 my first thought was, "Oh no, Stacy must have forgotten that it's a daycare day and she needs to pick Gavin up." Stacy is many things, but early is rarely one of them, so I was concerned.
Thankfully Gavin seemed to be feeling fine when they came through the door, save his mucus encrusted nose. He was super pissed, however, that I scooped him up immediately and wouldn't let him walk on the floor. Unfortunately, Emma had an accident while I was downstairs putting in a load of laundry. When I came home there was poo everywhere. In the living room on the rug, in footprints across the living room floor into the kitchen, and then a sad trail or more poo leading to the back door. Poor girl. In any case, I didn't think this was the best environment to let Gavin run loose in. So that made him cranky. Stacy tried explaining the situation to him in Spanish (I understood the words "house" and "yard" but little else. Thankfully I could infer what the conversation was about. I told Stacy that she should show Gavin the mess on the carpet (while holding him, of course. Toddlers have little impulse control, even when it comes to things that are clearly gross and clearly do-not-touch-OMG-that's-disgusting). His eyes got really wide and he looked both shocked and then very concerned for his old friend Emma. I should mention that Emma was wearing a diaper when I came home and sleeping on her bed (did I mention she wears diapers now? This is a source of much interest for Gavin). And yet while surveying the damage I saw her diaper, clean as can be, on the floor. She's, like, the Houdini of poo. I guess that would make her Pooudini. And that would make me ashamed for even writing such a thing. Alas. It's too late. No way to take it back.
Stacy and Gavin have a snow day tomorrow. There's supposed to be, like, a zillion inches of snow by tomorrow and all through tomorrow. So far UofM has canceled classes on their Flint and Dearborn campuses, but Ann Arbor is still a go. So while Stacy and Gavin are having the time of their lives roasting vegan marshmallows and roller skating and petting unicorns (because that's what people do on snow days), I will be heading out into the snopocalypse, as some clever people have termed it and driving all the way to Ann Arbor. I will then sleep in my car so I don't have to drive home just to turn around and do it all again on Thursday.
Speaking of snow, Gavin is fascinated by the stuff but doesn't like to play in it. We took him outside to play in the snow the other day and he enjoyed brushing snow off of my car, but actually trudging through the snow in his boots and snow pants, not so much. He doesn't like all of the falling. There's a lot of falling right now if you're Gavin in the snow. I can't blame him. Falling isn't fun. He also hates mittens. Keeping them on him is a struggle. I even bought these special mittens that are supposed to stay on and keep the snow out from that space near the wrist between where the mitten ends and where the sleeve begins. Isn't that the worst? I remember that happening and hating it when I was a kid, so when I saw these gloves I thought, "Yes. Stay on gloves so I no longer look like a totally negligent parent to my mittenless-in-the-freezing-cold child. The only problem is, the SnowStopper mittens (besides using Comic Sans on their website and in their logo) are really difficult to get on. Great concept, but the execution is a little tough when you're dealing with a toddler who is often not cooperative. In any case, hopefully we're not negatively conditioning him so that when he's older he refuses to leave the house when it snows and just sits on the couch playing skiing and snowboarding video games. Unless he can somehow make money at it like some people do with online poker. Then I'm all for it.
Thankfully Gavin seemed to be feeling fine when they came through the door, save his mucus encrusted nose. He was super pissed, however, that I scooped him up immediately and wouldn't let him walk on the floor. Unfortunately, Emma had an accident while I was downstairs putting in a load of laundry. When I came home there was poo everywhere. In the living room on the rug, in footprints across the living room floor into the kitchen, and then a sad trail or more poo leading to the back door. Poor girl. In any case, I didn't think this was the best environment to let Gavin run loose in. So that made him cranky. Stacy tried explaining the situation to him in Spanish (I understood the words "house" and "yard" but little else. Thankfully I could infer what the conversation was about. I told Stacy that she should show Gavin the mess on the carpet (while holding him, of course. Toddlers have little impulse control, even when it comes to things that are clearly gross and clearly do-not-touch-OMG-that's-disgusting). His eyes got really wide and he looked both shocked and then very concerned for his old friend Emma. I should mention that Emma was wearing a diaper when I came home and sleeping on her bed (did I mention she wears diapers now? This is a source of much interest for Gavin). And yet while surveying the damage I saw her diaper, clean as can be, on the floor. She's, like, the Houdini of poo. I guess that would make her Pooudini. And that would make me ashamed for even writing such a thing. Alas. It's too late. No way to take it back.
Stacy and Gavin have a snow day tomorrow. There's supposed to be, like, a zillion inches of snow by tomorrow and all through tomorrow. So far UofM has canceled classes on their Flint and Dearborn campuses, but Ann Arbor is still a go. So while Stacy and Gavin are having the time of their lives roasting vegan marshmallows and roller skating and petting unicorns (because that's what people do on snow days), I will be heading out into the snopocalypse, as some clever people have termed it and driving all the way to Ann Arbor. I will then sleep in my car so I don't have to drive home just to turn around and do it all again on Thursday.
Speaking of snow, Gavin is fascinated by the stuff but doesn't like to play in it. We took him outside to play in the snow the other day and he enjoyed brushing snow off of my car, but actually trudging through the snow in his boots and snow pants, not so much. He doesn't like all of the falling. There's a lot of falling right now if you're Gavin in the snow. I can't blame him. Falling isn't fun. He also hates mittens. Keeping them on him is a struggle. I even bought these special mittens that are supposed to stay on and keep the snow out from that space near the wrist between where the mitten ends and where the sleeve begins. Isn't that the worst? I remember that happening and hating it when I was a kid, so when I saw these gloves I thought, "Yes. Stay on gloves so I no longer look like a totally negligent parent to my mittenless-in-the-freezing-cold child. The only problem is, the SnowStopper mittens (besides using Comic Sans on their website and in their logo) are really difficult to get on. Great concept, but the execution is a little tough when you're dealing with a toddler who is often not cooperative. In any case, hopefully we're not negatively conditioning him so that when he's older he refuses to leave the house when it snows and just sits on the couch playing skiing and snowboarding video games. Unless he can somehow make money at it like some people do with online poker. Then I'm all for it.
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