Tuesday, March 5, 2013: We're going on a toilet hunt

Hello. And welcome to the relaunch of my blog. I will now focus not on being a mom, but on raising guinea pigs on a macrobiotic diet. Just kidding. I just haven't updated in forever. Now I've acknowledged that and we can move on.

Gavin is very interested in ice these days. Considering we live in Michigan and it is Winter there is plenty of it to go around. He's fascinated by the idea that he could slip and fall on the ice and he is ready and willing to test this theory. Today after school I told him he could play on the playground for five minutes and what he wanted to do was swing, but under each place on the swing set was a deep icy mud pool and I appealed to his saner nature to do something else. And the something else he chose was walking across the soccer field which was a patchwork of mud, snow, and ice, with a particularly large patch of ice right in the center. He fell twice, once on his butt and once on his side. And had I not made him leave the playground I have no doubt he would have fallen again and again.

Which is what he did on our walk today. Gavin and Henri and I set out for a trek around the block. The slightly warmer weather today made being outdoors tolerable and the sidewalks in our neighborhood are largely snow and ice free (except in front of houses that never bothered to shovel their walks in the past few weeks and have treacherous bumpy, wet, and slippery expanses in front of their homes advertising their abject neglect. And, no, I'm not just talking about foreclosed homes where no one lives. The house I have in mind as I type this has a brand new snow shovel propped up agains the house by the front door. I don't know, maybe it's load bearing and if they move it their house will collapse. Who am I to judge?). While Henri and I were on foot, Gavin rode his scooter, something he's been dying to do all winter, but something we've discouraged since a Razor scooter is no match for snow, sludge, or ice. And Gavin's on a real, two-wheel Razor scooter now. Last year he was riding a three-wheeled one for little kids, but it was slow and cumbersome and he was eager to graduate to two wheels. I was doubtful that he'd be able to pull it off at first, but he's actually quite good at it. He falls a lot, but, like I said, it's almost always on purpose. I make him wear a helmet, too. It's a Nutcase helmet and on the back it says, "I love my brain," and every time I read that I think of how much I do, indeed, love my son's brain.

Take, for example, a conversation he and I had about toilets right before our walk. I was putting a Lowe's circular we'd gotten in the mail into the recycling bin when it opened to a page advertising toilets, something I have never actually had to buy before. The average price of the toilets on the page was 200 bucks. "Do you know how much a toilet costs?" I asked Gavin. He did not. When I told him $200 he asked, "Is that a lot of dollars?" and I said it was, relatively speaking, and he inquired as to whether I was planning on buying a toilet. I said no. He then asked if there were any toilets that could be bought with one dollar. I said probably not because a toilet that costs only a dollar probably wouldn't work and that a broken toilet could be had for free if you got it out of the garbage. Lo and behold, we found just such a toilet on our walk. It was like a miracle. After Gavin eagerly posed beside it (because this mom knows a photo opportunity when she sees one), we dragged it home because, hey, free toilet. I'm kidding. We left it where we found it, but I will always have this photo to remind me of what could have been.

Speaking of toilets, Gavin's love of potty humor seems to have reached a cruising altitude. For awhile there he loved to say all of the potty-related words he could think of anywhere and everywhere. So we instilled a rule that he could say these words with abandon so long as he was actually in the bathroom (I mean, they are called "potty words," so this makes a logical kind of sense). For what seems like months he would sit on the toilet and string together words like "pee pee" and "butt" and "poop" in every conceivable combination with such a fervor you'd think those were the only words he had ever been taught. And soon he was combining them with all of the other words he knew creating gruesome compound words like "peanut butter poop" and other words I can't even remember right now to repeat because I have probably blocked them from my memory in order to protect my brain. But I'll tell you what: we very rarely hear potty words outside of the bathroom, say at the kitchen table or in the car. And when he does slip and say something potty related outside of the potty zone, he realizes it immediately and says, "Oops, sorry." But in the past couple of weeks this pottywordpalooza seems to have lost steam. Instead of Tourette-level outbursts, he now mostly tells stories or sings to himself. Which is nice. Permission can be a great threat to subversion.

Wednesday, Feb. 20, 2013: Mickey meets Gavin

Gavin went to Disney World while in Florida with Stacy so that Mickey Mouse could finally meet his cutest fan in person.

Wednesday, Jan. 2, 2013: Bucket list

I was talking to Gavin about how things we like as kids we don't always like as adults and vice versa because people change as they grow up. This list came from that discussion.

Things Gavin says he's going to do with he's 18:

• Eat lettuce
• Drive a car
• Work at Greenfield Village driving the train (but not blowing the whistle)
• "Eat a bigger piece of brocoli than you."
• "Drive a bigger car than you."
• Be "twelveteen" feet tall ("And then I'm gonna stop growing")
• "I'm gonna wear 11T" (size clothes).
• "I'm gonna be bigger than you."
• Live with his moms. "And you're gonna be my family."

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.