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.