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.