Sunday, Dec. 23, 2012: Christmas angel

I'm happy to say that Gavin is cured. He's now a perfect angel. He apparently just wanted to give us a couple months of hell. Maybe he wanted to see us grow as people, and also see us growl as people. But seriously, his behavior is great and it has been ever since shortly after my last post. Which obviously means he reads my blog.

A lot has happened, including Gavin's new school picture, which actually was taken at JC Penney's and not at his school. But since he had his school photo taken when he was in daycare, it was very important to me for there to be no gap in the chronology now that he's in preschool. And because I fucking love school pictures now that I have my own kid (my own school pictures? Not so much). I chose JC Penney because of their embrace of gay and lesbian families. But also, and this is probably not going to sound flattering but I mean it in the best possible way, because I didn't want the photo to look too, well, professional. I wanted it to look like a school photo, not a Glamour Shot. I am very happy with the result. I don't even mind that you can see his fading black eye (he tripped and fell on the playground while he was wearing sunglasses which dug into his face. This happened a day after tripping and falling and busting his lip (which we just noticed has caused one of his front teeth to start turning grey). So he looked pretty rough for awhile. Cue the child abuse jokes, which I know I am not supposed to take personally but I can't help it, I do to an extent. Because I can't really think of anything I'd hate myself more for than intentionally hurting my child. And knowing how so many fucked up people hurt kids in so many ways. In any case, Project 2012 School Photo has been completed and I could look at this picture all day.

Gavin also took week-long trip to Florida by himself. Well, he flew down there with his Granny Marilyn and stayed at her house and Stacy flew down there to get him a week later. So it's not like we dropped him off at the airport with a note that said, "Please help me get to Florida." While Gavin was gone he got a terrible ear infection and spent a good amount of time there feeling crummy, but was a very sweet, and very cuddly, boy. But he also had a good deal of fun (Gavin and Granny took a golf car ride to Wal-Mart and came back with a new bike and helmet, for example). Before he left for Florida I gave him a hug and told him I was going to miss him and he looked into my eyes with one hand on my shoulder and said, "You'll be okay, Mama D. You'll be here with Mommy. Have some fun."

Also while he was gone the beyond horrible shooting happened in Newtown, CT and all I wanted to do was hug my son and never let him leave the house again, but since he was far away I had to settle for pacing the house and fighting back tears. My heart goes out to those families who lost those little kids. I still have moments every day where I look at Gavin and have this flush of fear and sadness at the thought of him being taken from me like that.

But he is home. And he is safe. And when I picked Stacy and Gavin up from the airport he ran to me with the biggest smile on his face and gave me the biggest hug. I told him I missed him and he said he'd missed me, too. "I didn't miss you on the airplane, though," he said. When I asked him why not he said, "Because I knew you were going to be right here." He is a very smart boy. He also seemed two inches taller and had grown out of his shoes. And he came home with a penchant for "spectacular" holiday light displays.

Gavin is very excited for Christmas. This is the first year where he believes the whole Santa thing, which I at first felt weird about, because lying, but I've accepted it. In fact, I even thought to myself the other day that if it snows I could use the roof rake to make a sleigh track. And then I knew I was a lost cause.

Gavin's Christmas song of choice is "Jingle Bells." Last week he was on the toilet singing it but he didn't know all of the words so he was making them up: "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh what fun it is to... one, two, (inaudible) HEY!" and repeat." He's gotten better with the lyrics (instead of "(inaudible) HEY" he now sings "sleigh" as two syllables with a big accent on the second syllable so that it sounds like "slay-EH"). But that's because he has a lot of practice. He sings it a lot. Especially when he plays Santa, a game that involves him sitting in the chair in the living room with the ottoman pushed up against it (his sleigh) with a couple of rocking horse ornaments he likes to take off the tree (his reindeer) set down in front, and all of the presents under the tree stacked on the ottoman. It is my job to pretend to be asleep on the couch (I am good at this) while Santa arrives and delivers the gifts under the tree. Then when Santa is done I am to wake up and pretend to look out the window at Santa as he flies off. I can tell when he's coming and going because he sings "Jingle Bells" en route.

There are five wrapped presents under our Christmas tree right now, all for Stacy. Gavin helped me wrap them. He has been surprisingly good at keeping what's in them a secret. Although he did spill the beans about one of the gifts. While Stacy was buckling him into his car seat he noticed that the tip of one finger of her glove is torn up and he told her that we got her new gloves that she can wear while talking on the phone (Stacy and I got new phones, which means her olden days flip phone has been officially retired). Which is true. But she'll still have to wait until Christmas.

Yesterday Stacy and Gavin went shopping to buy me a present (Gavin blabbed the plan) and I went out to do some shopping myself. When I got home they were eating dinner and Gavin ran to me saying, "I'm not going to tell you anything!" It is not easy a kid his age (or, any age really) to keep secrets, so I've been impressed with his resolve. Though I also know it would be really easy to make him crack. Not that I want to. I have no desire to know what my present is ahead of time. Nor do I want to exploit the top secret intelligence capabilities of a three and a half year old. Honestly, a hug and a kiss from both Gavin and Stacy would be plenty for me.

By the way, it's totally fucking weird to have a tree in your house that you decorate for a month out of the year. Especially a plastic tree, like ours. I told Stacy I wanted a real one this year because the idea of storing a fake plastic tree in our tiny house year round is a dumb one, but then Stacy started talking about some Christmas tree farm near her dad's house that's a couple of hours away and how we'd have to chop it down ourselves and I'm all, "I thought it'd be more like going to the tree lot on Woodward" and the fake tree in our basement started to look pretty damn good. I really can't complain because Stacy took care of all the holiday decorating stuff while I graded essays. Gavin helped her decorate the tree a little bit, though he was much more interested in playing with the ornaments than he was in putting them on the tree. Now that the tree is up, he's a big fan of taking the ornaments off the tree and playing with them. There have been some casualties. But it is the War on Christmas, after all.

Saturday, Nov. 17, 2012: Working blue

It's been nearly a month since my last post and all I can say is that is has been a really challenging month. Gavin is really testing us with his behavior and desperately wants me to become an alcoholic. He is lucky that I don't drink. Seriously, though. The whole "terrible twos" thing is a myth, like a unicorn. But the terrible threes is real, like a rabid 40 lb. raccoon you are legally obligated to provide food, clothing, and shelter to even though the raccoon is yelling "NO" in response to everything whether it is a question or not and thrashing around like, well, a rabid raccoon. Don't get me wrong. I love my kid and think he's amazing and beautiful and smart and sweet. But sometimes I want to say, "You can open the fridge and know how to use the microwave (kind of). You're on your own now, kid." And get in my car and drive far far away.

It's not a lot of fun to tell people, "Yeah, my kid is acting like a total dick" because it basically feels like you're telling them, "I am so terrible at my job." And I really want to be good at this. Since it is kind of high stakes, raising a human being and all. We've started using Love and Logic which is resulting in incremental improvement. Rosemary suggested it to us and let us borrow an audio book by the guys who started it. Stacy said it makes her feel really empowered. I like it because the goal is to stay calm and be understanding but firm. In other words, don't take any shit and do it with a smile. And don't get me wrong, it's not like any of Gavin's behavior has been unusual for a three-year-old. This is a hard age, the hardest so far for us, certainly. Three-year-olds are all about wanting to do things for themselves and testing you at every turn. The problem is that it's always a pop quiz and we, as parents, have to ace every one. So we're working on it.

Gavin wore two pair of underpants all day yesterday. At the same time. One pair of Scooby Doo and one Thomas the Train. When he came out of his room this morning all doubled up I said, "I don't know how comfortable that's going to be, Dude." But soon after breakfast I totally forgot about the Scooby the Train combo, ushered him into some sweats and took him to school. It wasn't until I got home from work in the evening and saw his sweats in an inside out entanglement with his dual underpants on top of the laundry hamper that I remembered. I asked Stacy if she noticed anything about his underpants and she said that when he got ready for his bath he had red marks on both sides near his hips. Stacy asked him if his underwear had been uncomfortable and he said, "No, it's probably because I was wearing two."

Sometimes Gavin will "fix" my hair when we are face to face, like if I pick him up or if I crouch on the floor at his level. This fixing usually entails him pushing my hair away from my face with the clammy palms of his hands. And he gets this really serious look on his face and his face is so close to mine but he is not looking at my eyes, he's concentrating on the sides of my head where I apparently need help. And I love this look so much. It's love, I think. It's something he does that is just so sweet and attentive and I don't even know. I should note that he doesn't exactly manage to make my hair look in any way improved, but he can be my stylist any day. Yesterday after doing my hair he turned his attention to my eye brows, smoothing them down with his finger tips. "Why are your eyebrows so long?" he asked me. I told him that I didn't know, that's just how eyebrows are. And he said, "You're supposed to cut them." I said, "I am?" And he said, "Yes. They're too long. You need to cut them." Next he'll be giving me makeup tips. Which I probably need.

I mentioned awhile back that I often say to Gavin, "Guess what?" And then answer the question with, "I love you." Gavin did his own version of this for Stacy yesterday. According to Stacy, Gavin said, "Mommy I have a secret to tell you." She asked, "What is it?" And Gavin put his mouth right up next to her ear and whispered, "Stinky butt." And Stacy said she tried not to, but could not help but laugh. Which means he will do it again and again times infinity. Today he did the same thing to me but what he whispered in my ear was, "Poo poo pee pee."

And so the blue humor stage of Gavin's comedy career has begun. Gavin is obsessed with the words "poop, pee, stinky and butt" in any and all combinations right now. I am sure that going to preschool is helping to reinforce the hilarity of potty talk, which means we obviously have to pull him out and home school him. Mostly I ignore this kind of talk because it's a losing battle and the more attention I give it, the more encouragement he has, really. But I have to admit, I know I would have laughed at his "secret" because I totally would have been expecting him to say, "I love you." And I have to admit, I like "I love you" better.

On Monday morning I dropped my necklace down the bathroom sink right before leaving for work. As I was already running late, I put a box over the sink and wrote on it: DO NOT USE SINK. I dropped my necklace down the drain and had no time to deal with it." When I got home from work that evening, the following conversation ensued:
Gavin: "Mama D! We have a plan for to get your necklace out."
Me: "You do, what is it?"
G: "You use a screwdriver to pop it out and take it off and get your necklace."
Me: "Really?"
G: "Yes. So you need to get a screwdriver."
Me to Stacy: "What kind of screwdriver do I need?"
Stacy, shrugging: "I don't know, it's his plan."
I did, in fact, end up using a screw driver as part of the necklace rescue operation and I am happy to say that after disconnecting the pipes under the sink I have my necklace back.

Stacy and Gavin left a little while ago for some event related to helping families in need at Stacy's school. After giving me a hug goodbye Gavin put his palm to my cheek and, looking into my eyes, he said, "I'm sorry you aren't coming with us, Mama D. You're gonna be okay."And that, folks, is why this is all worth it.

Saturday, Oct. 20, 2012: Gun Control

I woke up yesterday morning in between sheets soaked in pee that wasn't my own (for once!). You can probably guess where the pee came from. Especially if I tell you that Gavin was sleeping next to me. He has a habit of waking up between 1 and 4 in the morning and getting into bed with us. Quite honestly, I don't usually even wake up so I have no idea that this under-the-cloak-of-darkness-sleeping-quarters-relocation has even happened until morning. Stacy, on the other hand, tells me every morning at what time Gavin came into our room. She's said in the past that she doesn't sleep well with him in our bed, but she also says she doesn't mind that he's doing this because she finds it endearing. I don't really mind, either, but, like I just said, I sleep through most of it so it really doesn't effect me. What I don't like is how early Gavin wakes up -- weekday, weekend, it doesn't matter --  and how he stands and turns the lamp on that hangs over our bed (sometimes he steps on my hair as he does this). This is usually followed immediately by Gavin saying, "I'm hungry."

But back to the pee. I've always had a lingering fear about Gavin peeing in our bed because, unlike him, we do not have a waterproof wet-the-bed emergency sheet on our mattress like he does. So when I woke up and found a very damp Gavin sleeping next to me and sheets all around me equally damp and smelling like pee, I knew that my fear had come true. But when I asked Gavin if he peed he said, "No, I just sweated." Truth be told the boy does often sweat a lot at night, but sweat was not the culprit this time. He even had a night time diaper on (I should say that all diapers are night time diapers in our house now. Gavin is a chonies champion these days) and even though he rarely actually pees in said diapers, last night he apparently peed all the pee in the world, or at least more than could be contained underneath his green-striped footie pajamas. Although stripping pee-sheets off of my bed is not my ideal way to start my morning (so close, though), I am happy to report that the allergy cover we use on our bed saved our mattress from an absorption catastrophe.

Gavin found a witch hat in the basement that I'm pretty sure Stacy wore for Halloween last year. He puts it on and then gives us "rotten apples" since his main reference point re: a witch is this old Snow White puzzle he has which I have described to him as a picture of a witch giving Snow White such an apple. When he gives the apple to me, I pretend to smell it, declare it unfit for consumption, and toss it into a compost bin. Stacy, on the other hand, proceeds to pretend to take a bite, throw up, and pass out, waiting for a prince to come kiss her awake. Gavin likes to play multiple roles in this game, which led him to declare, "I'm the witch. And the prince." Which, as Stacy said, "pretty much sums up my relationship with my son at age 3." And how. I'm happy to report, however, that last week Gavin and I had a couple of really amazing days in a row. It was awesome. He listened to his moms and was polite. No freak outs. No broken hearts.

Well, until yesterday, that is, when something really sad happened. No, not Gavin falling down the front porch steps -- though that did happen. Literally head over heels, landing on his noggin at the bottom. I was standing at the front door and Stacy was standing at the bottom of the steps and while people often say, "It all happened so fast," it actually seemed to happen in slow motion. He was shaken up but not really hurt and Stacy held him while he cried for a bit. And then I said, "I told you to hold onto the goddamn handrail." Actually, I didn't use those words, but I did ask him if he was holding the railing (he wasn't, which I already knew) and pointed out the fact that falling is not fun is exactly why we need to hold the railing in the first place. I wasn't trying to say "I told you so," as much as trying to help him establish a clear cause and effect in his head since he's been really cocky about not holding the railing on steps these days. So many of the parenting books talk about how important it is for kids to experience real-world consequences and so I capitalized on that teachable moment. Lo and behold today he and I were coming upstairs from the basement and he was goofing around on the steps going up "like a frog," he said, and near the top of the steps he fell backwards and landed on his butt a step below. Had I not been right behind him with a firm grip on the clothes hamper he fell against, we both would have probably fallen. Which is why, involuntarily, what came out of my mouth was, "Jesus, Gavin!" I later heard Stacy telling him in Spanish that what he did was dangerous and I couldn't make out the rest except she said something to the effect that he would get hurt and end up in the hospital and that he would cry and that she would cry and that other people (not sure who she said) would cry and that he wouldn't get to go to Greenfield Village because he'd be in the hospital.

But that's not the sad thing I was talking about. The sad thing was hearing Gavin say, "I have a shooting gun. I'm shooting you," while brandishing a plastic, child-size hanger. We have tried very hard to keep him shielded from images of violence. He hasn't even seen Cars 2 because they shoot rockets at each other. I remember over the summer at Lisa's house in California Gavin picked up Brenden's bubble gun (like a squirt gun, but it blows bubbles) and declared that it was a bubble machine and proceeded to hold it upside down while he played with it, having no concept of what a gun was nor how one might hold such a thing. Other toy guns he has encountered he's thought they were toy electric drills. And none of these toys were his. We have no toy weapons of any kind in our home. And yet, here Gavin is, shooting up our house with a hanger. I gave Stacy a worried look and she said something along the lines of "it's preschool," and while I wasn't sure what she meant by that, I could tell by her look that she wanted to discuss it later and not make a big deal out of it lest we accidentally encourage Gavin by giving him a reaction. Later, when I asked Stacy about the gun thing she said she had casually asked him about it. She assured me, "It's procedural at this point. He has no idea what the effect of the gun would be." When she asked him what a gun is for he said, "You hold it like this and you shoot it like this and then you put the bad guys in the jaula." The bad guys, he said, included the police. Oy. Look, it's not like I didn't think this day would come, but it feels really sad. It's a loss of innocence and this means he's one step closer to learning about the super fucked up things that happen and how horrible people can be to one another and to animals. The amount of cruelty in this world is astounding. I just hope that we can teach him to fight against that cruelty, not be part of it.

Thursday, October 4, 2012: Hands are not for hitting your moms

Hey, have you checked in with your peanut butter lately? Because your peanut butter may totally be trying to kill you. WTF, peanut butter? W.T.F.

Gavin is making new friends at school, mystery friends, even. There's a boy named Julian he talks about a lot. In fact, last week, apropos of nothing while eating dinner with Stacy (I was at work) Gavin said, while smiling, "Julian loves me." When Stacy asked him how he could tell Gavin said, "Because every day at school I sit by him and he plays with me." Thing is, I have never met or even seen Julian. I'm not calling my son a liar, mind you. I guess I'm just saying that I don't even know who he is anymore. 

Today we had lunch with Jack and Sammy, twins in his class, and Beth, their mom. She is very crafty and loves math. I am not crafty and do not love math but I do love writing and have a guilty affinity for 80's and 90's era hair metal. So between us we could do a pretty awesome job homeschooling. If it ever came to that. In any case, bagels were had and no one really cried so I call the event a success.

Gavin got his first bad report from daycare on Tuesday. I realize I just wrote "first" as if I expect it to be one of many. I hope not, of course, but also recognize that he's three and also that he's human (most days). Ms. Eugenia told me that he was very disrespectful, sticking his tongue out and refusing to listen. He had to sit in time out, though was apparently not cooperative with that, either. She said something like, "We do not allow this kind of behavior in our class," which kind of sounded like Gavin was in danger of being kicked out of school, but I'm sure that only crossed my mind because I was feeling embarrassed and sad. I thanked her for telling me. I may have said, "I'm sorry," though I don't remember. I certainly felt sorry, but recognize that it isn't really me who needs to apologize. It's Gavin. And a sincere apology from a three-year-old is hard to come by.  It's not like Gavin is headed for a special episode of My Toddler Is Out of Control with Maury Povich (or, wait, isn't there a Learning Channel show on that topic?), but it's still a major bummer to get a bad report about your kid.

Thankfully the rest of the week has been shaping out okay. And I was happy to hear that he's usually well behaved. So maybe Tuesday was just a rough day. It happens.

As for his behavior at home, well. You take the good, you take the bad... He still tries to hit us when we tell him it's time to stop doing whatever fun activity he's engaged in and go home or eat dinner or whatever totally less fun thing is coming next. And we definitely had some of that today after I let him play on the playground for 20 minutes. I gave him 10, 5, and 2 minute warnings, but to no avail. I ended up basically having to wrestle him into his car seat and let him cry all the way home. I should note that much of this crying was totally faking it, a new thing he's pretty fond of. (Note: I am not so fond of this.) I know that a large part of what is required of me is being firm yet patient and loving at the same time. The patience part can be hard. Because it's not easy to play it cool when a three year old is beating you up in your car.

I don't mean to make Gavin sound awful. He isn't. I mean, look at this kid. He's like the epitome of sunshine and all things beautiful. This was him this morning right before school, sticking his head out of the sunroof. While we were parked, of course. As I explained to Gavin, it would not be safe to do that when the car was in motion, to which he responded, "Unless you're in a parade."


Tonight while eating dinner Gavin jumped out of his seat and tore out of the kitchen saying something very urgent sounding as he sped by, but he was going so fast there was a major Doppler effect and it took me a second to figure out that he was saying, "I gotta go poop." No sooner had I deciphered this message when I heard a crash in the hallway, the sound of Gavin colliding with the laundry basket that he, himself, left there. I rushed to him and comforted him while, at the same time, I pulled down his pants and got him to sit on the toilet before I had a kid who was not only crying, but also had shit in his pants. Mama D for the win.

Saturday, September 29, 2012: Pancake Queen

I made pancakes for the first time ever this morning. Stacy, still recovering from the cold that has knocked us all on our asses the past two weeks, slept in while I got up with Gavin (who doesn't believe in sleeping in). Full disclosure: this does not usually happen. Stacy is usually the go-to parent in the morning because Mama D can sleep through almost anything through sheer force of will if I know that Gavin's health and safety are not threatened (i.e. if I know that Stacy is awake and on it). But because Stacy coughed much of the night away last night, I knew (from personal experience, albeit, second hand) that she hadn't gotten much sleep. And so it was that I found myself awake and asking a handsome boy with messy blonde curls what he wanted for breakfast. And he said, "Pancakes." Now, he has made this request before and I have always said, "I'm not making pancakes" because we either didn't have time or because, well, I had never made pancakes before and it seemed like an awful lot of work (if you're wondering how someone can make it 34 years without ever making pancakes I say worry about your own life for once, okay? Also see the previous reference to "an awful lot of work"). Stacy makes us pancakes pretty frequently, actually, on Saturday or Sunday mornings. And, well, they're not always very good. She has been experimenting with different recipes trying to find the best vegan pancakes (solely for my sake, because she wouldn't need to make them vegan if she and Gavin were the only ones eating them and this is but one of the many things I love about her). What I've learned about myself and pancakes: I don't like buckwheat pancakes. I don't like bananas in my pancakes. I don't like thick pancakes. I don't like burned pancakes. So when Gavin asked for pancakes this morning, my first instinct was to say, "How about cereal or toast?" But then I thought, "Hey, why not fucking try to make pancakes for your fucking kid? Would it fucking kill you? (I'm not a morning person, really). And so I said, "Sure" and got out my copy of Vegan Brunch and Gavin and I whipped up some pretty damn good pancakes if I do say so myself. Though glancing at the recipe now, I think we may have used a tablespoon of cinnamon instead of a teaspoon and I know we did not use vanilla extract. But it was before 7 a.m. and I was tired, plus my assistant was illiterate had to stand on a chair to reach the counter. Still, they were good, damn it, and mostly not burned. So I got to spend quality measuring and pouring and mixing time with my son this morning and Stacy got to sleep in and wake up to breakfast already made (points deposited in the Being Married To You Is Not A Miserable Experience Bank). A win-win-win.

Our street had a block party today and Gavin got to ride his bike in the street for the first time ever. He loved this, as did many of the other kids. I explained to him that today was the only day riding his bike in the street was okay because the street was blocked off. I don't want him getting any ideas and cruising down 8 Mile, even though I know he would wear his helmet. He is very safety conscious. He was concerned that not all of the kids in the bike parade, which kicked off the block party, were wearing helmets. That's a tricky thing to explain to kids -- when something they have been taught to do for safety, and indeed must do per parental demand, isn't something other kids have to do. The worst is when Gavin calls attention to this within earshot of the other parents because I can't be all, "Well, that boy is climbing up the slide after I told you not to do that very same thing because that kid's mom doesn't care if he gets kicked in the face." Wearing a helmet, however, is something so ingrained that whenever he sees a bicyclist or a motor cyclist he always remarks upon whether or not they are wearing a helmet. Michigan's brilliant repeal of the helmet law has only made this issue more confusing for Gavin (he follows state politics pretty closely). So Gavin's attitude toward the helmetless bike paraders wasn't, "How come I have to wear a helmet and they don't?" It was more, "Why on earth are they not wearing helmets?" But once the parade had started he forgot all about the potential for closed head injuries among the neighborhood kids and focused instead on riding as fast as he could down the street with his biker gang.

Gavin also loved jumping in the Spiderman bounce house set up on the Pool family's front lawn, which I think all of the kids agree should be a permanent staple. Especially Jim, a.k.a. Mr. Jim, a.k.a. Mr. Pool (psst: he's really a grown up). And he got to do a little sidewalk bowling, which I was absent for, but from this picture Jim took, it looks like my boy is a natural.

Thursday, Sept. 20, 2012: Homesick

Gavin has a cold, or, as he calls it, "a coughing sick" and did not go to preschool today or yesterday. I, too, am getting such a sick and I am not as happy as most people probably would be. I know I am alone in my dislike of colds, but if hating colds is wrong, I don't want to be right.

The good news, however, is that Gavin's behavior has been much better these past couple of days. Not perfect, mind you, but we never asked for, or expected, perfect. I think he's getting used to going to preschool and his new schedule (though being off for two days can't help). He's been a much happier kid (despite being sick) which means he's been more cooperative and much more polite. So I've decided he can stay.

That's not to say I won't still read Your Three-Year-Old: Friend of Enemy, which my mom bought for me as soon as she read my last post, even though I was joking about wanting it because it seemed so sad. Thankfully in real life it doesn't seem to be that depressing. It's even pink with a close up of a little girl in an ugly hat on the front, so it can't be all bad. I will read it and report back.

Yesterday Stacy had to stay home from work to tend to Mr. Coughing Sick. Today I stayed home with him, but I don't go to campus on Thursdays anyway. He goes to morning preschool on Tues. and Thurs. and I go to the library to get some work done. Trying to cram an entire work week into the three days I am on campus (MWF) is impossible. I've tried it. Having a couple of hours in the morning to get work done on the days I am home with him is really helping be to stay employed and sane. Well, just employed, but still.

I accidentally taught Gavin to say, "I'm going to punch you in the face" today. Before you panic, no, I did not threaten to cold clock my son. I was getting him his car seat (because even though we are both feeling sick, there were some things that had to be done outside of the home today like going to the credit union so old women could gush over Gavin's gorgeous curls) and he, not paying attention, flung his arm outwards and upwards, his hand just grazing my chin. I, largely involuntarily, made some kind of sound akin to "whoa" and Gavin, the ever-curious gent that he is, asked why I made such a sound and I responded, "Because you almost punched me in the face." And then I hardly had myself in the car and my seat belt buckled before he said, kind of to me, kind of to himself, "I'm going to punch you in the face." I told him that was a terrible thing to say to someone, but I really didn't have much credibility on the subject at that point.

Gavin has been learning about time and is constantly asking questions about what day it is. Not as in what day of the week, but as in, "Is there another yesterday coming up?" which is what he asked Stacy yesterday and then me today. Other queries include, "Is today yesterday?" and "Yesterday will it be tomorrow?" I just asked him, "What day is it?" and he said, "What?" I repeated the question and he said, "I don't understand what you're saying." I repeated the question again and he said, with his most serious thinking face, "I thought today was tomorrow."

Hey, do you have $80 to spend on a gift for an awesome kid and you're about to blow it on some kind of plastic LeapFrog bullshit reading thing that you're totally going to regret buying because it is loud and eats batteries and even after you give it to your kid he will still prefer to steal your iPad and eventually will manage to break both? Don't do it! Subscribe instead to McMullens the children's book imprint by McSweeney's. Gavin is a subscriber (okay, I am and I somewhat reluctantly hand over the books to Gavin, so really this is a good gift for all ages) and we both really dig the books so far. In fact, a short while ago we were cuddled up together reading The Night Riders (which has no words so not only does it require imagination, it also can be read in any language including Gavish, a language he made up himself), and Benny's Brigade, which came in the mail today. All of the McMullens books I've read have ranged from good to excellent (the vast majority of children's books I read, and I read a lot of them, I deem merely okay) and for $80 you get 8 beautiful hardcover books (with bookjackets that, when unfolded, double as awesome posters) as they are released by writers and illustrators who are a testament to the craft. I realize I sound like I work for McSweeney's here (and let's be honest, I totally would), but I seriously love these books and what kid (or grown up) doesn't like to get packages in the mail? Especially when those packages contain children's books that are not about Elmo or giving things to a mouse/pig/cat that are unhealthy and inappropriate for their diets or a glasses-wearing aardvark who looks nothing like an aardvark or Disney Princesses singing "I'm too sexy" or whatever it is they do (get married mostly, I think). Amen.

Sunday, Sept. 16, 2012: Frenemies

I wish Gavin would stop telling me, "I don't love you" so much because it's kinda bumming me out. Oh, and hitting me. I am not digging that, either. Ever since Gavin started preschool at the beginning of this month, he's become a little terror. At first we chalked it up to the fact that he spent all summer home with both of his moms and now, BAM, he's in day care three full days and two half days a week and both of his moms are at work every day. I can totally understand how that might be a tough adjustment for a little dude. Hell, it's a tough adjustment for me, too. But this "I will no longer listen to you and will, in fact, hit and spit at you while saying hurtful things" shtick is really wearing me out. I did a Google search for "my three year old has turned into a nightmare" and I came across a discussion page that recommends a book called Your Three-Year-Old: Friend or Enemy. Even the title is depressing. But from what I understand and what I've read, Gavin is not beyond the range of normal, but he is beyond the range of pleasant too much of the time.

He has also stepped backwards in toilet learning. Right before preschool and perhaps the first week in even, Gavin had been using the toilet like a boss. He even slept in underwear one night last week and woke up dry. We had reached what I thought was a turning point and I thought I could see the light at the end of the diaper tunnel. There was even a nearly two week stretch when I couldn't even remember the last time he'd pooped in his pants. He was wearing underwear during the day, often backwards so he could see the picture on the rear, but still. And he was trying really hard. He'd spring up from the table or his room and say, "I've got to go poop!" or "I've got to go pee!" A couple of weeks ago he had an accident at Laura and Jamie's but he tried so hard to make it to the toilet. I wasn't there, but Laura reported that he ran like hell from the living room to the bathroom but just couldn't get his pants down in time and peed on the floor. According to Laura she heard the saddest voice ever from the other side of the bathroom door say, "I didn't make it." A similar thing happened today, in fact. Stacy was in the bathroom and I heard Gavin say, for the first time in at least a week, "I have to pee!" But the bathroom was occupied. Before Stacy could open the door I heard a very despondent Gavin say, "I'm peeing in my diaper." I went to him and as soon as he saw me, guess what? He pouted and tried to hit me. Good times. I understood that he was really upset about not making it to the bathroom and am bummed myself since he hadn't shown interest in awhile and this makes me fear he may be set back further, like, "Screw this potty thing, it's too hard." Poor little dude.

I would also say, for the record, that the worst feeling ever is not liking your own kid -- thinking your own child is an asshole, even if just momentarily. Also for the record, my son is not an asshole, he is just teaching us the gift of patience. Xtreme Patience, as it were. And man does having a three year old run away from you in a parking lot and then spit at you when you get near him test your patience. If there was a Patience Olympics, I am definitely in training. Actually, I think this is the Patience Olympics and it's a decathlon on an endless loop with no breaks.

That's not to say Gavin is never sweet. I hit my head on the van door while getting him into his car seat today and he asked if I needed a kiss. When you sit in the back seat with him he always says, "Hold hands?" as he extends his hand to you. He likes to cuddle up while we read books. And Stacy and Gavin had the following exchange the other day while playing together in his room:

Gavin: "First you dump the M.U.S.C.L.E. men in this dump truck and then in this dump truck and then in this yellow one."
Mommy: "Like this?"
Gavin: "No. It's okay, Mommy. It's okay to be unright. Try it again."

Gavin's musical tastes continue to evolve with my careful curating of pop music on his ever-growing playlist on my iPod. His current favorites are the Spanish version of "Mickey" by Toni Basil, "Jump" by Van Halen (he digs that music video, too), "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor (one of my favorite songs as a kid), and Todd Lundgren's "Bang the Drum All Day." His number one favorite is still, however, "I Can't Drive 55," which both of us sand along to in the car on the way home from the grocery store today. Singing along to songs is a new thing to him and "I Can't Drive 55" is one of the only ones he'll do. That song has become his touchstone when it comes to talking about speed limits and speeding. Like this conversation that Stacy and Gavin had while Gavin sat behind the wheel of the van pretending to drive while it was parked in the drive way:

Gavin: "I'm going 30! Is that faster than 55?"
Stacy: "No."
Gavin: "Then I'm going 7! Is that faster than 55?"
Stacy: "No. How about 75? That's faster."
Gavin: "Then that's the amount I'm going."

Tomorrow starts his third week of preschool. I can't believe my kid is in preschool already. He's in a Spanish immersion Montessori school, which means he gets to do whatever he wants, but all in Spanish. So far he seems to have gravitated to food-related art. He's come home with no less than 4 different finger painted broccoli stalks on four different days and two potato pictures decorated with brown crayon and, for reasons I don't quite get, several strands of brown yarn. Unlike his years in day care when Stacy dropped him off every morning, that is now my job. And it is not easy. Getting a kid ready in the morning, especially in his current Mad Max state, is challenging to say the least. I am not a morning person either. But if he doesn't get ready and out the door in time then I will be late to work, so there's high pressure to get asses (his and mine) moving in the morning. I find that if I get him dressed first and let him play and then get ready myself that helps because then I don't have to wrestle him into clothes at the last minute, which is guaranteed to be the exact minute he decides to shut down the cooperation area of his brain. The worst part about the morning drop off, however, is that every morning he says, "I don't want to go to school" and he cries when I leave. Not only does he cry, but he has to be pried (gently, but still) off of me by one of his teachers and I have to, basically, escape. It's not a good way to begin the day. But on the days I also pick him up (Tuesdays and Thursdays) he is always so happy to see me when he emerges from his class, thrusting his latest broccoli or potato masterpiece into my hands before giving me a huge hug.

See, I know he loves me. Even if he says otherwise. I am, however, really glad that he hasn't learned how to say, "I hate you." Yet.

Friday, Aug. 24, 2012: Hungry like the big bad wolf

I'm on strike today. For 24 hours I will not eat anything, just drink water, in order to protest the discrimination I face as a lesbian in the state of Michigan. It's part of Hungry 4 Equality and I'm the Day 26 striker out of 100. I'm camped out in the front window of Affirmations. It's all very red light district. If you want you can watch me live, which is pretty creepy, actually.

What does this have to do with being a mom? Well, Stacy and Gavin may come visit me later today, for one. But most importantly, I am not considered a mom at all by the state of Michigan. As far as they're concerned, I am a single woman who lives with another single woman and that other woman's child. I have no legal protections as a parent because I am not legally a parent. Michigan doesn't allow or recognize marriage between two women nor does Michigan allow second-parent adoption, which would allow Gavin to have two legal parents and all of the protections that come with that. Should something happen to Stacy Gavin would not automatically stay with me or anything. We'd have to rely on a judge to recognize our parenting agreement (a legal document we had drawn up with a lawyer), and said judge doesn't have to do that. We have a will and everything, but that is not at all the same, not even close, to a legally recognized relationship.

So, yeah, I'm doing this for my son and my wife and my life, really. How much impact or effect it will have, I don't know. But raising any awareness is a good thing.

Hunger related things: "Hunger Strike" by Temple of the Dog, "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran, The Hunger (that movie where Susan Sarandon and Catherine Deneuve are, like, lesbian vampires or something), The Hunger Games, Hungry Hungry Hippos (my sister, Laura, swallowed a marble from that game when we were kids). It's lunch time. I'm hungry.

I just got back from Chicago. Gavin, Stacy, and I went on a road trip adventure to see Krystal & Nate & Henry & Lucy, Amanda & Dave, Carolyn & Chris & Brenden & Grayson, and Carol and Ina (Stacy's aunt and grandmother). It was an action packed week. We learned that Gavin is a most excellent travel companion who can sleep in just about any bed anywhere. He was very good in the car and had only a couple of meltdowns the whole trip.

Krystal's kids are pretty much in love with Stacy. She played Big Bad Wolf with them for hours. Basically you just reenact the story of the Three Little Pigs using your imagination and alternate who is the wolf and who is the pig. It involves a lot of running and hiding. It's something Gavin wants to do basically all of the time and something I want to do rarely, which causes some conflict. Stacy is the go-to mom for that kind of stuff. I'm more into things like, "Hey, let's line up your Hotwheel cars in color order" or "let's read books."

Gavin is still not potty trained, but he's making some impressive steps forward. He pooped on the potty at Amanda's house when we first got there, which is something he did at my dad's house a week earlier. He liked Amanda's bathroom because it is upstairs and Gavin, not having stairs in our oh-so-modest home, is very interested in this. He always wants to go upstairs at his Grandma Kathy's house, for example. Well, he declared, "I'm old enough to go upstairs by myself" and he did just that and used the potty all by himself, too. Granted it was all pee, but still. He asked Stacy for assistance (and yes, "assistance" is the word he used) with buttoning his pants. That's it. He'll get there soon enough.

Thankfully the place he's going to preschool (a Spanish-immersion Montessori school) doesn't require that he be potty trained like most preschools do. Otherwise I'd be panicking right now. It's such an arbitrary rule and I know that so many parents, and as a result kids, get super stressed about potty training right about now, which isn't at all helpful for anyone involved. I'm a believer that this isn't something you can force a kid to do. Not unless you want him to have major issues later on that he only shares with his therapist.

Friday, Aug. 10, 2012: Check it and see

I've got Gavin singing Foreigner around the house now. I just changed his diaper (poo, unfortunately. I asked him when he was going to do that on the potty and he said, "In five years." I told him that he will be 8 years old in five years and I would be really concerned about his development if he was still pooping his pants) and afterwards I said it was time to wash our hands (he has to help with diaper changing, so he has to wash his hands, too) and he stood up and said, "Let's do it!" And then, "Hot blooded, check it and see" while making a rock-and-roll snarl and giving a thumbs up. My work as a parent is obviously done. There really isn't a greater achievement I can think of.

Gavin's favorite song is probably still Sammy Hagar's "I Can't Drive 55" which he sings a lot. A lot a lot a lot as Gavin would say (when Gavin wants to add emphasis to something he repeats the word or phrase while increasing the octave of his speech, so if something is of particular importance by the time he's done it's five minutes later and only Henri can hear him speaking). He often sings it to himself when he isn't thinking about anyone else listening, which I love. I sing all the time. To the dog, to the cat, to Gavin, to myself. A lot of times I don't even notice I'm doing it (unless Stacy gets annoyed and tells me to stop it). So Gavin clearly takes after me.

On Tuesday Gavin and Stacy were preparing to clean off the table on the deck so we could eat outside, and he said to her, "I'm the sprayer man and you're the woman who's the cleaner." See, he likes to be in charge of whatever cleaning solution being used (in this case it was Method brand antibacterial kitchen cleaner, orange scent. We use a lot of that around here). And boss people around. And then today as I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich he said to me, "I'm the getter and you're the maker." If I didn't know any better, I'd think we were doing our best to instill gender-normative assumptions in our boy. You'd never guess he was being raised by feminists. I fear he may be listening to Rush Limbaugh at night or something.

Also at lunch today, Gavin announced in the middle of eating, "I need to use the potty. But I need a little bit of privacy." And then, while running toward the bathroom he turned back to me, holding his crotch and said, "I'm going to see if I can catch the potty in time." My first instinct was to say, "Dude, go! Don't stand here talking about it." But I did not. I can't remember what I said, but it was probably along the lines of, "I hope you do." Thankfully he did.

Prior to lunch, we hung around in the back yard. I pulled some weeds and he helped me a little, but soon gave up and went to play in his sandbox. When I asked him if he wanted to pull any more weeds (because he was very enthusiastic about this idea just a few minutes earlier) he said, "I think so playing is more funner than working." He's pretty deep. 

My new favorite thing is the following dialog exchange:

Gavin: "Guess what?"
Me: "What?"
Gavin: "I love you."

See, that's something that I've been saying to him forever. I say, "Guess what?" and the answer is always "I love you." And now he says that to me. Sometimes he says, "Mama D, do you want to tell you to guess something?"

Oh, and if you ever wanted to know how to get to the airport from our house, Gavin will tell you. When we were going to pick Stacy up from the airport he told me, "It's way way far away on the other side of Hamtramck. On the freeway I-79." As Laura said, "Just give him the keys - he's got this covered."

Tuesday, July 31, 2012: Off to go

Gavin is hiding under his bed with a load in his pants. He claims he is "not done pooping" and told me "I want you to go out in the hallway." I've told him before that leaving poop in his pants will make his butt sore (actually, we go right for the gold and say it will make his anus sore. Much more dramatic. And accurate). But I am not going to beg him to let me wipe his butt. I have diaper cream. I'll wait.

Speaking of poo (and I am, it seems, always speaking of poo), Gavin is in diapers full time again. He's technically in Pull-Ups but those are actually diapers and anyone who thinks otherwise is kidding themselves. They're just diapers you don't have to get a kid flat on the floor to put on is all. It's interesting though that twice Gavin has declared spontaneously on his own that he needed to pee and then went in the bathroom and did it all by himself. Both times we had company over so I have witnesses (Cheryl, Sara, please back me up). And then two other times he has pooped in his pants and I found him in the bathroom changing and trying to clean himself. Thankfully neither time resulted in stepped in feces tracked across the bathroom and all over tarnation, though. He is woefully inept when it comes to wiping, though that's to be expected at this stage. From what I've heard about boys they start to get better at it around the time they start college.

Gavin has been playing with this little Matchbox food truck I bought him awhile ago. He calls it his taco truck even though it says hamburgers on the side. But he can't read. And the only food truck he's ever really eaten from was a taco truck. Today he rolled the truck up to me and asked me if I was hungry. He then told me that he sold mango, strawberry and pineapple tacos and spinach donuts. Sounds damn good to me. Who wants to help raise the seed money for this venture?

I've been a single mom now for over a week. Frankly I think I'm pretty good at it, but that's only because I am not working this summer. For single ladies who have a kid (or kids) and a job (or jobs), I honestly don't know how you do it and I am so sorry that we live in a country that does not consider raising children an actual job and offers shit support to families. Family values, my ass. In any case, that is not to say that I in any way wish to stay a single mom. Gavin has two moms, just one of them in in Peru (or "at Paroo" as Gavin would say) right now. She'll be back soon. Gavin and I are both looking forward to her homecoming so long as she brings us the present we asked for (which is her arriving alive and well).

Of course, not having a break from Gavin at all save when we go to the gym and he hangs out in the Kids Club is taking its toll. I could use a break. Sometimes I just don't want to have to hear, "Play with me, Mama D" every five minutes and "When you gonna be done (with whatever it is you're doing that is not allowing you to play with me including things like going to the bathroom or showering or making dinner)?" And then there's, "What next?" which is what Gavin says at the conclusion of every activity or event we do together, reminding me that this is a never ending job. A very often rewarding job, mind you. But Jesus, what a job.

Speaking of Jesus, that's been one of Gavin's new catch phrases. A week ago at the park Gavin and his friend Colin were playing on a slide and since only the two of them were using it, they had free reign of the thing. At some point they went off to do something else and when they came back to the slide there were other kids playing on it. Gavin's response? "Jesus. Oh, Jesus. There's kids on the slide." Later, at home, Gavin heard a rumble outside and went running to the front door saying, "Jesus, it's the garbage truck." Now I readily admit that he got this from me. And I would be lying if I said I didn't think it was hilarious to hear him say it. But I also know that it's probably not the best habit to instill in my child and so I've been encouraging him to say "Gee whiz" instead since it sounds like Jesus. I haven't made a big deal about the Jesus thing because I'm afraid if I do he will also make a big deal about it by saying, "Oh, Jesus" forever. Or at least all the way through grade school.

Thankfully not every cute thing Gavin says is potentially offensive to millions. We've been going on walks every evening, which is something I usually do with Henri after Gavin goes to bed, but since Stacy isn't here, that's a no-go. Gavin's favorite thing to do on the walk is to pretend that he's the Big Bad Wolf and that I'm one of the three little pigs (or maybe I'm all three rolled into one?) and he chases me and I'm supposed to run. Now this might come as a huge surprise to many folks, but I am not a runner, despite my physique. I do not like to run, though pretending to run is worse than actually running. The Big Bad Wolf shtick is getting old quickly, except that while he's chasing me he yells, "Run in your life" instead of "run for your life." And it's fucking adorable. I have to admit that it breaks my heart a little bit when he outgrows certain verbalizations. Like the day he started saying "ketchup" instead of "keputch." Or when he started calling me Mama D instead of "Dirt."And there are many more I can't think of (but would happily to be reminded of by my wife or anyone else who reads this). Also, when we're about to leave the house he says, "Off to go," a conglomeration of "off we go" and "ready to go." He also says, "Ready to rock and roll" when we're ready to go, which he got from me. We often sing it in a high-pitch warble, often in unison, as if we were truly rock stars ourselves. Which we are. To each other anyway.

Monday, July 23, 2012: Three for three

Gavin is three years old now. Has been for three days. I can't believe it has already been this long. I can't believe it has only been this long. I feel like he's been mine forever or that I've been his, really.

We had a little birthday party at our house. I made him Oreo cookie cupcakes per his request (he picked them out from one of my many cupcakes recipe books). The Pool kids (three girls, one boy) came as did Rosemary's girls. While Gavin opened his presents he was surrounded by girls oohing and ahhing and trying to help him. It was cute. Stacy and I gave him a train set for his birthday. Lots of Thomas the Train Wooden Railway and compatible stuff. All of the Thomas stuff is ridiculously expensive but I got all of it at Marshall's and TJ Maxx, some of it on clearance. I'm not a pay full price kind of woman, sometimes to my peril (suffering through, for example, several days without my allergy medicine while trying to track it down on sale). The weather was perfect for his party and I know he had a good time.

July is a big birthday month for us. Granny Marilyn's birthday is the day before Gavin's and she was up here from Florida. The day after Gavin's is my brother Brian's, and he's back from Arizona. The day after that Gavin had two birthday parties to go to, one for Colin who was born on the same day as Gavin, and one for Angus, who was born around the same day as well. Both kids had a bounce house at their parties and Gavin was a happy, sweaty mess. But if I never see birthday cake again it will be too soon.

Potty training (because I know you were about to ask) is not going so well. He was, it seemed, making some real progress and we'd instituted a no-diapers-at-home policy that worked for awhile. Until he decided that going on the potty was too much trouble and started to just pee in his underpants on purpose. This resulted in a lot of rug cleaning (he mostly peed in his bedroom) and frustration for all of us. So now it's back to diapers but he has to change himself whenever he pees and has to help change himself when he poops, which means he has to wash his hands every time, an extra step that perhaps was making going on the potty seem less attractive. I am so over diapers, and he so isn't. I always give him the choice but he always chooses diapers.

This afternoon he chose underpants because I'd mentioned that he was running out of diapers. And he peed in them. On purpose, and not only that, he peed in them while standing in the hallway over the cars he was playing with. So when he yelled, "Mama D, I peed in my underpants" I found him standing over a puddle of urine with Rayo McQueen and Mac and assorted other race cars wheel deep in it. Poor Mac had the back of his truck open and pee had splashed inside. I was not very happy about this. It did not help that I had a raging headache. I made Gavin go into the bathroom and peel his wet underwear off. I picked up all of the cars and put them in the sink. I washed them all with a washcloth and then put them on top of the towel rack so they could dry and told Gavin he could not have them back until tomorrow. He cried and said he wanted them back and I informed him that we don't pee on our toys and if he peed on his toys again I would not wash them, I would just throw them away. He was still not happy. But, hey, I've got to draw the line somewhere. Peeing on your toys because you didn't want to stop playing is just not acceptable. It's also a sign that the kid really does need some more time to ease out of diapers. I think. We'll see, right? So much fun. (I just reread this paragraph and feel I should mention that I was incredibly patient given the circumstances and did not freak out).

Speaking of pee, he peed his bed during his nap today. The good news is that he took a nap, something that doesn't happen much now that he has a big boy bed. The bad news, of course, was the pee. He had a diaper on, but it leaked, wicked all up his shirt and soaked through the bed clothes. Thankfully he has a water proof mattress cover.

Stacy is in Peru for two weeks and so it's just been me and Gavin. He and I have been taking nightly walks with Henri. Tonight Gavin brought a toy firetruck with him and he just carried it and ran most of the way. Like, the kid literally ran most of the way around the block. At first he was running ahead of Henri and me and then he became the Big Bad Wolf chasing us through our houses of straw, sticks, and brick. On the walk I asked him what he liked about today and he said, "Taking a walk with you." He is sweetness and light.

Friday, July 6, 2012: Missing June

I know that since it's been a month since I've posted anything you're probably expecting some kind of big tah-da! announcement where I shout from the rooftops that my son is finally potty trained and/or has graduated from college. Alas, this is not to be, though it should be said that Gavin is totally within the bounds of normal when it comes to potty training, even if he still does prefer to poop his pants. This is such an anathema to me that it is difficult to wrap my brain around. The idea of shitting my pants makes me want to kill myself, but I guess that's what 34 years of life experience gets you.

We've set the bar higher for #2. Now not only does he get a jelly bean, but we've got a Thomas the Train toy up above the toilet that he can have when he does the deed. He's getting a train set for his birthday so it's more appropriate than he realizes. He wore big boy underpants for a stretch today with only minor incident. He started to pee, but was able to stop and come get me ("I'm peeing in my underpants," he said looking alarmed) and do the rest in the toilet. The goal is that he'll wear underpants all the time in the house and PullUps to bed or on long excursions.

June was a crazy month, especially for Gavin. He went to California with me and then turned right around and went to Florida with Stacy. I swear that Gavin is probably the best behaved child on an airplane ever. He was a dream to fly with. I couldn't have asked for anything better. I think he might have annoyed the guy next to us with his repeated questions of: "Are we going super fast yet? Now are we going super fast?" the entire time the plane taxied down the runway. But the kid is a flying champ. Quite the jet setter, he is. He even peed on the potty on the airplane. A highlight for both of us, I think.

Gavin and I went to visit Lisa and Brenden as well as Aunt Christine and her boyfriend Dan in Los Angeles. We came in on a late flight and he slept probably the last hour. Still, the first morning there I woke up at 5:30 a.m. California time to Gavin, his face right next to mine, saying, "I have to go pee pee, Mama D." He had a long stretch of not peeing in his diaper for the first day or so, but then he went back to it peeing only off and on in the toilet. Still, I think hanging out with completely potty-trained Brenden was a good influence. I loved seeing Gavin and Brenden interact. They're only 6 weeks apart in age (Brenden is older) and while there were some squabbles over toys, there was plenty of friendly chilling out, too.

The boys also took a bath together, which prompted a circumcised Brenden to ask why Gavin, who is uncircumcised, had a "weird penis." Gavin was completely not phased by Brenden's penis and I think the whole thing flew over his head a little bit. I explained to Brenden why his penis and Gavin's penis were different, not weird, and that seemed to do the trick and put the issue to rest.

Speaking of rest, Gavin and I slept in the same bed in California and it was really quite sweet. Gavin is a cuddly guy.

A highlight of our trip was going to Radiator Springs, or Cars Land at California Adventure Land. It was opening weekend for Cars Land so that part of the park was insanely crowded. We only got to go on one ride there. We waited in line for two others but we did not make it. The line for the Radiator Springs Racers was too long and Gavin lost interest. Though it was through waiting in this line that I learned that Gavin is now 40 inches tall. The bare minimum to ride. Then Gavin pooped his pants after we'd been waiting for a very long time in the line for Luigi's Flying Tires and we had to bail. We did get to ride Mater's Junkyard Jamboree, though. We waited forever and the ride was over in less than 5 minutes. But I think Gavin dug it. Though Cars Land was our main reason for going, we spent most of our time in the rest of the park which was virtually empty since everyone was in Cars Land. A Bug's Land was a big hit with the boys. We didn't even have to wait in line for most of the rides and if we did it was for less than 10 minutes. Mickey's Fun Wheel, a giant Ferris wheel, was a favorite. Gavin loved it. He loved being so high up. Brenden was a little nervous about it, but he still wanted to ride it a second time.

By far the boys' favorite ride was Ariel's Undersea Adventure. We went on that one three times (and, incidentally, while we were exiting the ride for the third time I am fairly certain that I saw Adam Levine heading in the opposite direction toward the ride's entrance). They wanted to go on it again, but by the third go of it we'd already been at the park for nearly 12 hours and it was time to head home.


Another highlight of our trip to Los Angeles was going to Homegirl Cafe with Christine and Dan. Gavin got to have green mac and cheese, his favorite (there's a pine nut-free pesto pasta meal from Trader Joe's that Gavin loves and I don't think "love" is too strong a word here. Last time we were there he was jumping up and down in the aisle with a crazed smile on his face chanting, "Green mac and cheese! Green mac and cheese!" I am sure the Homegirl's offering is much healthier (according to their website it's made with "fresh spinach, cilantro, serrano peppers, and a blend of Mexican cheeses").

We also go to go to Aunt Christine's work, YOLA at HOLA. That's Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles at the Heart of Los Angeles. Gavin got to play drums with one of the wind ensembles and it was really awesome. I can't even express how amazing YOLA is. My sister is doing amazingly important work that actually makes a positive difference in kids' lives and I am super proud of her. If you've got a couple of bucks to spare, throw it YOLA's way.

Sunday, May 27, 2012: Ghost story

I have developed a sixth sense when it comes to knowing when Gavin has poo in his diaper. I don't have to even smell it or watch him do it. I've found that once he's done the deed, his manner of eye contact changes. Specifically, he tries to avoid it, though since he's not even three yet, he doesn't have a great poker face. All I need is just the most fleeting of glances to know what he's communicating. When I ask, "Gavin, is there poop in your diaper?" he often says no, but at the same time positions his body toward me and takes a shuffling step or two backwards, keeping his butt as far away from me as possible. I'm not accusing him, mind you. This is solely a fact finding mission. He is not in trouble, I am not upset. But I also know better than to take his word for it. So I ask some gentle follow up questions and suggestions like, "Are you sure? Because I think you might. Let's check and get you cleaned up so you can get back to what you were doing" and/or "because it's not healthy to keep poop in your pants."  And if you ask him what will happen if he leaves poop in his diaper he will say, "Hurt my anus." Because we've taught him to make other people uncomfortable. Sometimes he actually admits that, yes, he does have a full diaper, and then I say, "Let's get that diaper changed, then" and he is usually okay with this. Occasionally he will resist and I'll have to warn him that I will have to take away whatever toy he's playing with (because that's usually the issue, at least when we're at home) until he has clean pants. This usually works.

So, no, Gavin is not potty trained yet. And he no longer stands up to pee. He prefers to do it "like Mommy," which means sitting on the toilet without his Cars potty seat. This is impressive, but standing to pee is much more sanitary, and this new technique involves gripping the front of the toilet seat bowl and lid with his hands for stability. I shudder at the thought of him doing this in a public restroom. He is in size 6 diapers now, which is as big as they get for babies. I certainly hope we don't have to move on to Depends anytime soon. I suspect that when Gavin and I go to visit Lisa and Brenden in California Gavin will get inspired by Brenden's mad potty skillz. He's only six weeks older than Gavin, but he's been potty trained for over a year now. We shall see.

Stacy and Gavin are camping right now. Probably. They're at Grandpa Gary's and the plan was to sleep in a tent in the back yard. They borrowed my mom's tent and brought a sleeping bag and everything. I am not a camper. I mean, I went to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival once and I consider it a testament to my very fortitude that I survived it. So I don't wish I was there, but I do wish I had a closed circuit camera or something so I could watch from afar (that sounds super creepy, but it is not). I hope they're having fun. Actually I hope that they're asleep since it's almost 11 p.m. But maybe they're up telling ghost stories around the campfire. Gavin is very into ghost stories right now. Every time we pass a cemetery he often says, "What kind of animals live in there?" The answer is ghosts, or fantasmas. More often now, he forgoes this inquiry and skips right to, "Tell me a ghost story." Stacy has, from what I can tell, a repertoire of three revolving fantasma stories. I have one:

Once upon a time there was a little girl named John (Gavin chose the name) who went to the cemetery with her mommies to put some flowers on the grandmother of one of her mommies. While the moms were busy with the flowers, John saw a duck waddle by and, wondering where a duck goes in a cemetery, decided to follow him. The duck walked all the way across the cemetery to the very edge and then flew away. When John looked around she realized that she couldn't see her mommies. It was starting to get dark and she was scared because she was lost. At this same time, John's mommies noticed that John was missing. They call her name but she couldn't hear them because she was too far away. John sat down on a grave stone, put her head in her hands and began to cry. Soon after she heard, "Wooooo!" John looked up and said, "Who's there?" But she didn't see anybody. She put her head back down and continued crying when, again, she heard, "Wooooo!" She looked up and she saw: a fantasma! "Why are you crying?" the ghost asked, in a ghostly voice. John said, "Because I can't find my mommies. And now a scary ghost is talking to me!" She began to cry harder. The ghost assured her he is friendly and that he can help her find her moms, but she said that she was not going to trust a scary ghost and told him to go away. The ghost's feelings were hurt because she was being awfully prejudicial, but he wanted to help her anyway. So he went to her moms who were still frantically calling her. "Wooooo!" the ghost said to get their attention. The moms were, much like John, freaked. "A ghost!" they yelled (apparently they talk in unison). "A ghost has taken our John!" The ghost shook his head. "No! I'm a friendly ghost!" he insisted. "But I know where John is and she is crying and scared and I can take you to her." The moms were not so sure it was a good idea to trust this ghost, but they didn't have any better ideas so they decided to follow him. He led them to John who was still crying on the same headstone. She looked up and saw them. "Mommies!" she cried, running toward them. "John!" they said, hugging her. "Thank you!" they said to the ghost. And then they all went home and ate cake.

If the ending seems a bit rushed, that's because it was. We'd pulled into the driveway and needed to get out of the car. Now, this story presents some problems for both me and Gavin. Actually, only one problem for Gavin. He wanted to know if the ghost also went home with John and her moms and also had cake. I told him that, yes, he went, too. And then Gavin wanted to know who's birthday was it. I said it was the ghost's. This seemed to placate him. I have several problems with the story. First off, WTF, mommies? Way to keep an eye on your kid. I know you're grieving and preoccupied with flowers, but come on! The same goes for John. I know she's a kid and following a duck across the cemetery probably makes perfect sense to her, but John should know better than to wander away from her mothers, especially if she's got a fear of ghosts. And then there's the whole talking to strangers thing. Or, in this case, strange ghosts. John doesn't fall for it, but her moms are pretty quick to go along. Granted, according to the story I extemporaneously made up in the car, they don't feel like they have any other choice. But the "trust me! I'm a nice guy!" thing worked really well for Ted Bundy, too. As for what a duck is doing in the cemetery, the first time Gavin pointed to a cemetery as we drove by and asked what kind of animals lived in there I didn't know what he was talking about or that there was a specific answer he was looking for. He and Stacy had obviously had this discussion at some point when I was not in the car. Gavin doesn't really make a distinction between my brain and Stacy's brain and just assumes we both have all the same explanations and stories. This is actually false and Gavin is quick to correct us when one of us, in this case me, says that maybe ducks lived there. And some squirrels. He eyed me skeptically as if I were a little dense and then said, "Maybe ghosts?" And thus the story of a wandering girl, her neglectful but very lucky mother, a ghost, and a duck was born.

May 21, 2012: How babies are made

Gavin and I had our first conversation about boners on Friday, an important moment in any mama's life. He was standing at the toilet, "waiting for the pee to come," and I was supervising and encouraging us both to "listen for the pee" (I find this to be very helpful as it makes Gavin focus on the task at hand. It is much easier to pee when you're not distracted, especially when the whole toilet thing is new to you). He was holding his penis when he looked at me and said, "I have a bone in my penis." And I thought to myself, "Huh. So this is happening." I'm pretty sure I responded with, "You do? What makes you say that?" Perhaps detecting my skepticism he asked, "I do have a bone in my penis?" And I explained that, no, he had veins in his penis that filled with blood and that made it feel like he had a bone in his penis. He seemed satisfied by this and shortly after that he peed, got a jelly bean, and moved on to other things. Which is good, because I'm going to have to brush up on WebMD before we take this conversation into territory that is even slightly more complicated.

The following conversation happened between Stacy and Gavin on Saturday morning (this was transcribed by Stacy. I was asleep and missed it all):

Mommy: When you're big, you'll have to drink skim milk, like me.
Gavin: When I'm big I'm gonna have kids.
M: You're going to be a papa?
G: Yeah.
M: You should wait until you have someone you love to do it with. Raising kids is hard.
G: With you.
M: When you're a papa, I'll be the grandma.
G: No, the mommy.
M: I'll be the mommy?
G: And I'll have two kids. A boy and a girl.
M: What will you call them?
G: John. And Harwey.
M: Harley?
G: No. Harwey. No! The girl name Juju.
M: And when you have kids, what will you do?
G: Play with them. And dress them.

I think Gavin would make a good papa. I mean, not right now. Right now he would definitely have the child taken away child protective services because he would likely leave him or her in the yard overnight like he did the battery pack to his power tool toys. Or let him or her sit in a soiled diaper while he watched Cars en español. Bottom line: you really can't trust an almost three-year-old with a baby. (Free parenting tips from Mama D!) I do think that Gavin would make a great older brother and it is sad that he will not have that experience. But having another child just because you want your first child to have a sibling doesn't really make sense. But my boy is a lucky boy and he has a really good life if I do say so myself. And I do.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012: A Stand Up Guy

For the record, March and April did happen. But they were a blur. Let's just continue on with our lives, okay?

Gavin is peeing standing up. And by that I mean he is peeing in the potty standing up. I'm sure he's peed standing up many times before while diaper clad (and a couple of times sans diaper but not in the potty. Once he was standing on our bed. Good times). I don't know why, but last week he declared that he wanted to pee standing up, like his friend Brenden (who, six weeks older than Gavin, has had this potty training thing down for a long time now). Then he did it. And then he did it again, and again, and several more times now. The second time he did it I put a square of toilet paper in the middle of the water for him to aim at, which he liked very much. He did that himself the third time. And the boy's aim is pretty good for the most part. I'm impressed. I have to admit, I knew the whole stand up to pee in the toilet thing would arrive eventually, and obviously Stacy and I can't demonstrate it, but it seemed at first that it is apparently an innate ability. The multitudes of jokes women tell about their husbands' bad aim had me a little concerned that maybe there was something more complicated then just hold your penis and aim your pee.

But I guess the holding your penis part takes some practice. Gavin had been a straight shooter until the other day when a combination of misdirected aim and a sliding step stool resulted in him falling into the toilet. I was not in the bathroom when this happened, I was out in the living room. Stacy was in there with him and I heard them talking in Spanish about going pee on the potty. And then I heard him peeing, which was quickly followed by Stacy saying, "Abajo, Gavin, abajo!" and then the sound of the step stool sliding across the floor, and then a splash, and then Gavin crying. I rushed in to see Gavin elbow deep in the toilet bowl. "It's okay," I told him. "You're all right. Let's get you dried off." I told him that this was something that happens to everybody and not to worry. He was still crying and very upset when I said, "Hey, you still get a jelly bean." Immediately his tears stopped and he said with actual perk, "A red one?" Jelly beans have been quite the potty training hit. Each time he pees on the potty he gets either a jelly bean or a chocolate chip, his choice. If he poops on the potty he gets two. But that has not happened yet. Every time I change his poop-filled diaper I ask him, "When are you going to poop on the potty?" His answers range from, "In one minute" to, "In 30 days." His concept of time isn't exactly, well, exact, but I would be perfectly happy with either time frame.

Thankfully Gavin's toilet bowl surfing accident didn't set him back in the potty training at all. He was back to peeing standing up later that day, sans step stool, which he didn't really need in the first place. He uses it when he sits on the potty to put his feet, but he's a tall guy (three feet and three inches according to his last doctor's appointment several weeks ago). Although seeing him standing there with his penis so close to the cold porcelain edge of the bowl makes me think of my mom's story about a little boy when accidentally slammed the lid on himself. 

Oh, and speaking of penises. Gavin is incredibly interested in the concept of his penis as a hose. He is obsessed with fire trucks and firefighters and the other day when he was standing at the potty to pee he said, "My penis is like a hose." I concurred that it, indeed, did have hose-like qualities. He then said he could put out fires with it. He then stretched his penis out as far as he could and said, "I can put out a real far fire." And I thought, "Woah. The size issue has already begun."

Gavin has read many books about firefighters, and he's to the point where he looks for realism in his fire literature. No longer is he satisfied merely looking at photos of firetrucks or cartoon drawings of firefighters sliding down poles. No. A book must have fire in it, photographed or illustrated. Otherwise he very clearly expresses his disappointment. And now he wants to see fire in real life. Last month we took him to see ZooZoo in Detroit (it was okay. Not as good as the video on their website would lead you to believe. But Gavin liked it. Oh, and in case you were wondering, children have terrible theater etiquette). On the way home we were driving down Woodward and we passed a building that looked pretty recently gutted by fire and I made some comment to Stacy about how sad it was that there were so many burned down buildings in Detroit. I was not talking to Gavin, but he heard me loud and clear. "I want to see burned down buildings," he said. I told him I'm sure we'll pass another one and as we drove on he requested post-fire wreckage about every five seconds. We ended up taking a detour through a neighborhood where we came upon a house so ravaged by fire that you could see the sky through what used to be the upper floor windows and you could see into both the basement and the backyard through the bottom windows. Gavin's first words were, "Where is the fire?" followed almost immediately with, "I want to get out." We explained to him that, no, we would not let him stomp around the wreckage in his light-up Rayo McQueen shoes, and that the house was no longer on fire because the firefighters put it out but the fire ruined the house. As we pulled away he wanted to see another house. Lo and behold there was another one right down the street. We stopped and looked at that one and despite his pleas to see more we went home. I fear we've now got a budding Detroit ruin porn aficionado in our midst and it's all our fault. Sorry, Detroit.

Wednesday, Feb. 29, 2012: Bored on a train

I am on a train to Chicago. Part of me wants to sleep. Part of me has a headache. All of me misses Gavin even though he is asleep right now and even if I was home, too, I would not see him.

Well, not ordinarily, anyway. Though last night was a horrible exception. Gavin woke up at about 10 p.m. After throwing up in his crib. He then puked seven more times until he finally went to sleep at 3 a.m. Because Stacy is a saint, I was allowed to go to bed about 1 a.m. while she and Gavin stayed up and watched the entire Cars movie plus two episodes of Minnie's Boutique. This is defnitely the most TV he's ever watched in one sitting, which I am sure he liked, though the price was very high.

I've seen Gavin puke before, but this was the worst. Poor little dude. He was, as you might imagine, not super happy about the way his evening was going. Neither were we, of course. The first couple of times he puked were the worst. Sadly we had eaten Pad Thai for dinner, which was one of my favorites. Emphasis on was. Did I ever mention that the night Stacy went into labor she and I, along with our friend Amber, ate at a Lebanese restaurant? At the hospital Stacy threw all of it up. Now every time we drive by the restaurant I feel queasy. Did I mention how I am not in love with vomit? This is something that you need to know about me if we're going to be friends.

But I was a champ, stripping Gavin's sheets and blankets and poor stuffed bunny and stuffing them into the washing machine on HOT. Many puked on towels followed. Gavin became quite adept at vomiting without freaking out and the last four or so times he did it he barely took his eyes off of the video screen. Although he was in denial about the fact, based on all available evidence, that he would puke a subsequent time. "I don't need another towel," he would say. But he did. At least up until three in the morning, but I was very much asleep by then.

In my defense, I should point out that I wasn't sent to bed because I was of no help, but Stacy pointed out that one of us should be well rested the next day in case he wasn't feeling better (he was). Or in case one of us got it.

Terrifyingly the jury is still out on that one. Stacy said that last week a bunch of kids in the infant room at daycare got sick and then all of the infant room caretakers got it, too. And since stomach bugs are hella contagious, I admit I am riding the rails in mild terror that I will end up holed up in the train bathroom, on the floor drenched in sweat and wanting to die. But so far so good.

Gavin and Stacy saw me off. He was very excited to see the train again (the last time being when Amanda Carver came to visit us) though not as excited about the fact that he would not also be boarding the train. While we were waiting at the stop a guy put four pennies, one quarter, and three dimes on the tracks. Stacy pointed them out to Gavin and explained that they would be flattened by the train. He was very interested in this idea. When I called Stacy later from the train she said that they had, in fact, seen the flattened results and that Stacy asked the guy if they could see one and he let Gavin have a penny. He was too shy to actually take it so Stacy had to, but she said he held it the entire drive back and then when he got home he put it in his wallet.

The woman across the aisle from me is eating something that smells bad and watching the Richard Gere remake of Shall We Dance, which should not exist. I am very partial to the original Japanese film and not just because it was one of the first dates I went on with Stacy. The woman watching the bastardized movie is now laughing out loud. I do not support this.

Gavin got his haircut on Monday and was very good. Bobby at the Chop Shop said it was like cutting a statue's hair. I presume he is referring to the fact that Gavin sat very still and was not comparing Gavin's hair to, like, cement or something. This is Gavin's second hair cut in his life. Just like last time, we just had a trim. We are in love with his hair. Or at least I am. I guess I shouldn't speak for Stacy, but I suspect her feelings are similar. His curls are pretty dreamy. They may some day grow out, but I choose to remain in denial about this. Denial never fails.

UPDATE: I am happy to report that I did not get sick. And when I returned home Gavin and Stacy were waiting for me at the station and Gavin and I ran toward each other in slow motion. Violins were playing. It was excellent.

Tuesday, Feb. 7, 2012: Bladder control to Major Tom

Naps are getting better. And by naps I mean daycare naps, because home naps aren't really a problem. But he's been getting mostly good reports from daycare. The ruckus raising hasn't really been a problem again and he's even taken a few actual naps (today, for example). I went to pick him up on Friday and was told that toward the end of naps he got a little restless so Debbie took him with her on a walk through the hallway. His daycare ladies have him under control. He's in good hands there.

Peeing, too, is getting better. Gavin is becoming quite the seasoned urinator. So far he has peed in the potty at our house, and once each at Grandma Kathy's, Spanish class, and, today, at daycare! When Stacy came to pick him up today she was a little early and his last diaper check had revealed he was dry, so she suggested he sit on the potty there and wa-lah! Pee. He also peed on our potty again tonight before his bath and while he was sitting on the toilet Stacy got so into a book she was reading him that the bathtub almost overflowed. When Gavin got in the water was up to his armpits. He immediately declared his intention to make a "big fash" and then made good on his declaration.

Poop is still a strictly in-the-diaper experience. Well, except for Sunday when he went on the floor of his room. It was really more Stacy's fault than his. After a successful peeing on the potty, Stacy offered him the opportunity to wear underpants, which he declined. Then he said he didn't want to put on a diaper, either. Stacy had a bunch of groceries to put away so she just let him play in his room butt nekkid. A short time later Gavin walked into the kitchen and told her, "I was playing with my cars and then I pooped on the floor." And sure enough he had. Stacy didn't make a big deal about it and cleaned it up and put a diaper on him. In fact, she was so low key about it she didn't want to mention it in front of him. So I learned about it on Facebook.

I am definitely at the point where it feels like he's too old to be pooping his pants. But I also know that he's not ready yet. I guess what I'm feeling is an impatience because I'm not wild about poo diapers or the "Gavin, did you poop? Yes, you did. No, you can't play with toys with poop in your diaper. Come out from under the table/behind the chair/in the hall closet" conversation. He has started walking funny when he's got a load in his pants and he also will often tell me that he's gone, but he's not interested in moving this party to the potty quiet yet.

The Three Little Pigs is still a favorite, as is The Jungle Book right now. Gavin just loves the story about the boy wearing only underpants in the jungle. I rented the Disney movie from the library for Gavin and he and Stacy watched it with the Spanish language track. I've personally never been much of a fan of The Jungle Book, but I am a fan of my son. So now not only is el lobo feroz a recurring character in our home, but now el tigre feroz is too. While ferocious, they are also unpredictable. Sometimes they destroy your house, other times the big bad wolf (in this case, Stacy) says please, so the little pig (Gavin) says "come in" and they eat chocolate cheesecake and coffee together, which is what took place under the kitchen table tonight after dinner.

Yesterday Gavin threw up on the floor at daycare. Stacy was called and she picked him up and brought him home. This was right before lunch and Gavin was not happy to have his routine disrupted. He didn't like that all of the other children were getting their lunches out while he was getting his jacket on. Thankfully he did not puke again and doesn't seem to be sick. He's had a cough and a runny nose so our theory is that his stomach was upset from so much snot swallowing and/or he coughed so hard he threw up. In any case, he didn't seem very phased by the whole thing. From what Stacy says (which is based on what Debbie told her), no one saw him throw up so he went and got Ms. Debbie and told her, "Come look." And he also threw up on the tile part of the floor as opposed to the much more ubiquitous carpet, which proves that he's smarter, or at least more considerate, than a cat.

Tuesday, Jan. 31: Quiet Riot

Gavin has decided that nap time is ruckus time at day care. This is most unfortunate since all of the kids sleep in one room and with one kid (my kid!) raising hell, none of the other kids get their naps, either. Which means these kids go home crabby and as a result their parents probably end up pretty crabby, and anyone who has to deal with their parents probably end up crabby... And so on. Basically Gavin is causing a chain-crab-reaction and is destroying the very fabric of polite society. Alas.

On Jan. 25 the following was written on his report: "Very disrespectful - screaming and laughing. He woke up our friends that were sleeping. :("

We talked to him about the importance of being quiet during nap time and the rest of the week he was cool.

And then the weekend happened and I guess his brain got reprogrammed. Monday's report: "Gavin was very disrespectful when trying to put other children asleep - He chose to sit at table with book. He was hitting the book - we tried crayons - threw them on the floor - we tried markers - colored on himself. :( We had to sit in hallway because our friends were sleeping and his choice was not to be quiet for them."

Note that Gavin was given several options when it came to spending his nap time hours. He doesn't even have to sleep! But he does have to be quiet. Considering naps last for 2 hours, that's a lot to ask of a little guy. And clearly some days he just can't handle it.

Stacy was really freaked out by this report and even started talking about pulling him out of day and getting a nanny, but when I talked to Debbie, one of his teachers, she didn't seem that concerned. I mean, obviously Gavin's Quiet Riot moments weren't ideal, but she's been working with toddlers a long time. And he isn't the first and won't be the last to "fing" his blanket (that's "fling," by the way, a word he learned at day care after Shelly told him not to fling his blanket). And she said that he's great with everything else. But he's acting out in part because of his age, and in part because we've taught him to be an sociopath. I'm kidding. At his age all kids are sociopaths, though the goal is that they grow out of it. Which he will do.

My friend Claire's Facebook status from today made me laugh really hard: "I used to think the most beautiful sound was a child's laughter, but now I know it's actually the sound of a child getting out of bed, using the toilet, flushing and returning to bed all on their own." Some day I will know this joy. Right?

Wednesday, Jan. 18, 2012: Big Bad Wolf

At our house you're either a wolf or a pig. And Gavin gets to decide.

On Tuesday morning he woke up with a dry diaper and then peed on potty. As the Big Bad Wolf. He's pretty obsessed with the Three Little Pigs right now. We have the Disney version of the story, a Little Golden Book. And Stacy and Gavin watched the cartoon in Spanish on YouTube. Gavin cried at the part where the wolf blows down the straw house. "I don't like when the house blows down," he said. Stacy stopped the video and explained it was for pretend and Gavin said he wanted to keep watching.

Later he and Stacy staged a recreation of the scene from the story where the Big Bad Wolf shows up at the pigs' door disguised as a little lamb. Behold:

Last night Gavin peed on the potty at Grandma's house after I gave him a bath (we were using my mom's house as a warming shelter while our power was out. Thankfully it was restored before we had to spend the night there. Although that would have been fun. Still, it was a school night). He didn't even have his potty seat. I put my hand on the small of his back to steady him and he gripped the edges of the toilet seat. Had it been a public restroom I wouldn't have advised such a thing. In fact, I would have explained to him that public restrooms were why diapers for grown-ups were invented.

On Saturday we went to the July Babies Parenting Group monthly get-together. Gavin had a pretty awesome time, especially since there was a drum he could play. It was the kind that goes around your neck, which he recognized as the kind the monkeys play in Hand Hand Fingers Thumb. He got pretty wild and crazy, jamming out with his friend Colin who not only was born around the same time as Gavin, he's also in Gavin's daycare. At the party Gavin composed an original punk rock song called "Goodbye, Elmo." The crazy thing is, in the video you see the beginning of his creative process, but the song now has complete and consistent lyrics:

Goodbye Elmo
My daddy's knockin at the door
Santa's coming
Yow!

Mind you, proper performance of the song includes lots of head shaking and jumping up and down. But Gavin basically wrote a song. Which just proves that he's the coolest kid in the world. Oh, and I asked him about the lyrics. Since he doesn't have a daddy I asked him if the daddy in the song was Elmo's daddy, like maybe the voice of the song switches from the speaker (Gavin) to Elmo and back. Gavin looked at me and after a beat said, "Yes." Though I know he has no idea what I'm talking about and it's probably pretty nuts to over analyze the lyrics of a two-and-a-half year old's song. And anyway, when he composed the song he was surrounded by daddies. In the video there are a couple dads of the other kids and Gavin is talking to another one whose voice you hear. So basically Gavin was just making poetry out of his surroundings. Here's a video of the beginning of the creative process. It's not the whole song because he wasn't done writing it yet. Though he just sang it to me this morning and then again this evening and it's still intact in his adorable brain.


In the kids say the darndest things department, we had this conversation tonight before dinner:

Me: "My eyes hurt so bad."
Gavin: "Why your eyes hurt so bad?"
Me: "Mommy was chopping onions."
Gavin, turning to Stacy: "Mommy, you hit Mama D with a sharp knife on the eye?"
Stacy: "No" (and then something to Gavin in Spanish about how I am very sensitive).