Saturday, Nov. 27, 2010: Thanks a lot

Gavin and Stacy are in the bathroom giggling. He's getting a bath. She might be in the bathtub with him. I don't know, because I'm in the living room not grading essays. I have a hole in my sock. I am tired. These are the things I do know.

Gavin can do so much for himself now. Well, he wants to do more than he can actually do, but even when he can't actually do something, he gets it. He's also a total monkey these days, climbing on and over and under everything. Stacy's taken to putting the kitchen chairs sideways on the floor to keep him from climbing up onto them. He likes to sit at the kitchen table and draw. Scribble, I guess. Still, he's got an artistic streak. But he wants to sit at the table all of the time and he can't be trusted not to chair surf, i.e. stand on the chair. "Chairs are for sitting" and "Sitting please," are very common phrases around these parts. Gavin's response is to either sit down, pretend like he's going to sit down and laugh maniacally, or to ignore us all together opting for a physical correction by default. And by "physical correction" I don't mean we beat him or something (although yesterday my dad was over and he saw the book Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline on the kitchen table and asked, "Are you going to smack him around?" Um, no, Dad. We aren't. Anyway, he was kidding, I think). I just mean we have to pick him up and take him off of the chair or gently encourage him to sit.

I took Gavin to the doctor on Tuesday because he'd had a cold for about three weeks. She gave him some antibiotics - nasty cherry-flavored pink goo that I can barely stand the smell of but that Gavin sucks down like it's candy. He doesn't know any better. And that's really to our benefit when it comes to giving him medicine, I guess. We've never given him anything besides baby acetaminophen before, so this was Gavin's first prescription. Unfortunately, his cold seems to be going on four weeks now, since it doesn't seem to have cleared up by now. I don't know if it should be cleared up by now or not, though. Stacy called the doctor this morning and left a message asking if we should give him another dose of the meds since we have enough left for one more. So we shall see.

Gavin's first Thanksgiving as a conscious being went really well. I mean, he was conscious last year, too, but not eating anything besides boobie milk and the occasional helping of cereal. Last year we were at Grandpa Gary's where Gavin got to cruise around in Great Grandma Mary's wheelchair. This year we went to Grandma Kathy's new place (see photo at left, taken by Laura's girlfriend at Grandma's), but had we gone to Grandpa Gary's no doubt he would have been pushing the wheelchair around the house rather than riding in it. Grandma Kathy has no wheelchairs, but she does have a piano and a harp and Gavin played solos on each. It took him awhile to get comfortable over there since he hasn't been very often, but once he was acclimated and could detach himself from Stacy he was very confident and curious.

Stacy made apple pie and Gavin got to have some. He was a very enthusiastic apple pie eater. He never gets to eat stuff like this since we are terribly mean moms. Stacy makes a damn good apple pie, too. Part of me wishes she would make it every day, but another part of me, the part that doesn't want to spend my life confined to a motor scooter to cart around my girth, is glad she doesn't.

Sunday, November 21, 2010: Look out! Flying babies!

"Ohshh, ohshh," is one of Gavin's new favorite sayings. He says it whenever he, say, drops something, or knocks something down when he didn't intend to, or falls on his butt. I am, of course, worried that what he's actually saying is, "Oh shit, oh shit," and, if so, that I am definitely to blame. Recently another mother told me about when her daughter was about three and one day blurted out, "Shit, shit, shit!" She went right to her husband and said, "You've got to stop swearing in the house! Did you hear what she said?" And then, a few days later, upset about something, she heard herself say, "Shit, shit, shit!" It was, in fact, her all along. I, myself, need no revelation. I am under no illusion that I have a clean mouth. And I do try not to swear in front of Gavin. But "Oh, shit" has been one of my go-to phrases for years. It's a hard habit to break.

Speaking of swearing in front of children, my friend Lisa and her son Brenden (he's six weeks older than Gavin and Gavin just turned 16 months -- I almost wrote 16 weeks. Not quite -- yesterday) were on a plane last weekend headed from Los Angeles to Oregon. She had him on her lap in the window seat and a woman came down the aisle -- an older woman, a grandma type, Lisa said, "The kind of woman you'd expect to love the shit out of kids" -- and found she was seated next to them. Now keep in mind that Brenden was being really good, he wasn't crying, he hadn't shit his pants or anything. He was excited to be on the plane and was looking out the window. This woman sat down and was seated for maybe two seconds when she sprung up and went to talk to the flight attendant. "I want a new seat," she said. "I am not sitting next to a fucking baby. I paid over $300 fucking dollars for this ticket and I can't believe this..." And on and on. Now, keep in mind, it's not a big plane and she's only a few rows away making no real effort to be discrete. Lisa was mortified. She said all eyes in the plane alternated between this woman and her. The flight attendant informed the woman that it was a full flight and there were no other seats available and I don't know what she would have done if some man up near the front didn't spring up and say, "You can have my seat. I'd love to sit next to the baby." And thus Lisa sat next to a man who told Lisa he had four kids and apologized on the woman's behalf calling her, "Pure evil." So thank goodness for this guy.

Now, Lisa's experience is not a common one, I don't think. I have never seen anyone raise a fuss about sitting next to a baby on a plane before. Gavin has been on a plane twice, once to Florida last year at Christmas time, and once to California. No one gave us any problems. I've heard plenty of people say they inwardly groan when they get on a plane and are seated near a baby, but no one ever go ape shit out loud about it. But try telling that to Lisa. Because the woman on the plane to Oregon was the second time this kind of thing has happened to her. On a flight from Los Angeles to Detroit another grandmotherly-looking woman asked to change seats so she wouldn't have to sit next to Lisa and Brenden. This woman didn't drop F-bombs all over the plane, but she still was rude and insistent. Luckily there was another available seat and Lisa and Brenden ended up having the whole row to themselves. And Brenden slept like an angel the entire flight.

So considering Lisa's travails, it was with much interest that I read the New York Times article "Passengers Push for Child-Free Flights." Apparently there's a vocal minority who claim they'd "gladly pay more" for flights sans children. I have a couple of responses to this. First of all, never tell airlines that you'd "gladly pay more" for anything because they are already gladly charging more for everything. Want to bring luggage? Open your wallet. Want something to drink, even water? Get out your credit card. Hell, Spirit even charges you for carry on bags. Pretty soon they'll charge you to use the restrooms and add an extra fee if you want to actually sit in a seat as opposed to standing in the aisle holding onto a goddamn strap like you're on a city bus.

As far as proposals go, child-free flights really aren't feasible. It would make traveling more of a logistical nightmare than it already is. The NYT article mentions a Facebook group called "Airlines Should Have Kid-Free Flights" (over 400 members now) where people kvetch and moan about kids kicking their seats and babies screaming and children throwing temper tantrums from one side of the globe to the other. I guess I've just been lucky, but I've never been on a flight with one of these terror-babies that folks are describing. Most of the posts on the Facebook group's wall blame the parents, which is probably fair in many instances (although it's important to point out that sometimes kids freak the fuck out for reasons even the best parent can't figure out or fix right away). Of course, it would be even more impractical to bar bad parents from flights because babies and toddlers flying alone are notorious for missing their connecting flights, never mind the barely comprehensible directions they give to cab drivers once they've reached their destination.

For the record I think Stacy and I are fairly good parents, though that doesn't mean I'm not nervous about our upcoming flight to Florida at Christmas time (I'm going to check out Jet With Kids before we fly and hopefully find something useful). Last year Gavin couldn't even sit up by himself, let alone walk and talk. But we're bringing a totally different kid this time. Last year he was a baby, now he's a toddler. And toddlers are capable of a lot more havoc on a plane. I mean, I don't know exactly what's going to happen, but I think he'll be pretty good. I hope so, anyway. I plan to be armed to the teeth with snacks, toys, and other diversions and can only do the best I can. Still, it's possible that my son might annoy some of his fellow travelers. Especially if we have Lisa's luck and end up sitting next to child-hating grannies from hell. But you know, fuck those kinds of people. I've got enough to worry about with the TSA insisting on either zapping my body in a microwave or rooting around in my ass crack before I board the plane.

Saturday, November 13, 2010: Gavin on my back

Gavin is sick. Lots of snot and coughing. He did go to daycare yesterday (you're welcome, parents of Gavin's friends!), but in our defense we thought he was better. He sure acted like he was. He woke up on Friday morning in such a good mood I half expected him to start singing "Zippity Do Dah" and clicking his heels together. Truth be told, that would have really freaked me out.

Last night while I was waiting for the bus to take me from campus to the commuter lot I was reading Slate.com on my Blackberry, which I so often do, and I came across Shankar Vedantam's "Parents Are Junkies: If parenthood sucks, why do we love it? Because we're addicted." He talks about recent studies that found becoming parents doesn't make people happier. If anything, having kids makes you less happy. But, of course, people still do it. And some people do it more than once (I am one of 5 kids, by the way. WTF Mom and Dad?). He argues that the highs of parenting are like a drug and, like a lab rat receiving a reward for pushing a lever, we endure an awful lot of unpleasantness in between highs. It's totally true. So much of being a mom sucks. I do not like interacting with snot, poop, urine, and spit on a never-ending rotation. I don't like crying and screaming and whining. I do not like the ever-lengthening TO DO list of parenting-related chores. Like right now, for example. Gavin's shoes are out on the deck because while we were playing in the yard he managed to step in dog shit. I need to clean them or throw them away. Those are my options (I'm still weighing them).

But then there's the times when he nuzzles his head into my shoulder and wraps his arms around my neck. Or looks up at me while he's nursing in the morning and smile and wave. Or waking up to his beaming face over mine. There's this voice mail message I have saved where he apparently called my cell phone (he loves to play with the phone). The bulk of the message is just noise, Gavin running around with the phone or whatever. But at the very end before he hangs up, he puts the phone up to his mouth and says, very briefly, "Ah." And I LOVE this message. I play it all the time. It's just this second of my son's voice and I get all warm and fuzzy every time I hear it. So, yeah, addict sounds about right.

Alas, it sounds like Gavin is up from his nap. He sounds very unhappy. I don't think he slept well at all. Coughing kept waking him up. Poor little dude. I suppose it's possible he'll go back to sleep. But I doubt it. God, I would love a nap. Maybe that's what I'll request for Christmas.

Oh, did I mention that the other day he napped for THREE AND A HALF HOURS? This, of course, happened while I wasn't home. Heaven forbid he should sleep even two full hours while I'm watching him. When I got home I was shocked when Stacy said he was still sleeping. "Are you sure he's alive?" I asked. She looked at me in horror. "Don't even say that," she said. "That's not even funny." I responded, "I'm not trying to be funny. Just paranoid and reactionary." And jealous. Definitely jealous. I mean, I love spending time with Gavin, but it's nice to get a break. Especially since that's so rarely an option. I've been exhausted for a few days shy of 16 months now with no end in sight (and, really, thank God for that).

Thursday, November 11: Sandpaper covered slide

It has been so long since my last update you probably figured that I'd given up on parenting and went to go live in some kind of Failure Palace for former moms. You would be wrong on at least one count. I am happy to announce that I am not a failure. I have given up on parenting, though. Gavin is clearly grown enough to take care of himself now as is clearly evident in his employee work badge school photo. I'm pretty sure I see the hint of a mustache. Is it necessary to mention that I screamed out loud when I saw this photo and then almost died from the cuteness? No it is not. It is the only sane reaction.

So, yeah, I've been wanting to write about all of the amazing things happening IRL (in real life), but I have been swamped with work, which is what pays the VRB (very real bills. Though soon Gavin's Initech salary will take care of that). Obviously a mother's love is measured by how much she blogs about her son -- so I would like to make clear that I have been BLOGGING IN MY MIND and yes, that counts.

Emma the greyhound, living large at 14-years-old, has been having a harder and harder time getting down the deck steps to go potty in the backyard. So the other night I bought her a ramp. It came via UPS today and she and Gavin both tried it out. Both ended up with bleeding feet. Emma had a difficult time grasping the concept of going up the ramp (going down was no problem) and slipped off the side near the bottom, scraping her paw. And Gavin thought it was a slide and tried to slide down it. The ramp has some pretty heavy duty grip surface and so his sliding ended up being more like a pants-shredding scooting. He was barefoot (yes, it's a little chilly today, but we were outside very briefly, I swear) and ended up scraping his heel and toes up.  I don't know why it didn't occur to me that he wouldn't get the "ramp" concept and just walk down it considering he'd never really seen or interacted with a ramp before. Apparently that's not a concept kids have from birth like wiping your dirty hands on your shirt or letting your body go all limp when you're throwing a tantrum making it physically impossible to be picked up. In any case, he was wearing these black leggings during the ramp incident (usually reserved for wearing under other things, like long johns, but Aunt Laura dressed him today after a Red Bull incident whereupon Gavin took her Red Bull and proceeded to dump it down the front of his chest while attempting to "get wings") and the crotch of his pants now looks like Swiss cheese. Oh well, they were ugly anyway. My dad called them his Peter Pan tights. Then again, they'd be really useful in the winter. Alas.

Gavin has a cold right now. Poor guy. It's time to bust out the humidifier. He's taking a nap right now -- although he did just start crying. Shit. I hope it passes. He really needs the rest. The last couple of nights he woke up late cry-screaming briefly before going back to bed. Night terrors, I guess, though I don't know what's causing them. He and Aunt Laura have been listening to a lot of Morrissey lately. That's probably it.

Dancing is still one of Gavin's latest and greatest tricks and he's only getting better. As I said, he and Laura have been listening to a lot of Morrissey. But he dances to good music, too. He will actually ask us to put music on. He'll go up to the cabinet the CD player is in and pull on the handle and look at us and bounce up and down a little bit. It's pretty much the most adorable thing ever.

"Dog" has seemingly left his vocabulary. In fact, most words have. He was racking up quite the little lexicon and now he's pretty mum. Well, at least in terms of actual decipherable English words. He babbles a lot. But he's apparently tucked his previous vocab away somewhere while he's busy working on other stuff. Like dancing and art. He's quite the artist, in fact. Here's a picture he and Aunt Laura drew while I was at the gym:

Laura drew the bird, cat, person and sun and Gavin drew their, um, environment. Laura said that the kitty is peeing all over everything, which she claims was Gavin's idea. Who am I to question my son's artistic intentions? Also, thank God for washable markers. Except Laura didn't have him use the washable ones. So that grey marker on his foot will be there awhile.

Sunday, October 31, 2010: Boo

I hate Halloween. Okay, that's not actually true. I love candy and so I am legally obligated to appreciate any holiday with candy as its centerpiece. Also I'm a sucker for cute kids in costumes. I, however, decline to dress up for Halloween. The older I get the less into it I am. The first year we lived in this house I was so excited to pass out candy on Halloween. I cued up "spooky" music (Metallica, maybe? I can't even remember. It might have even been Múm, for ambiance, I guess) and stood by with a big heaping bowl full of empty calories. I'd say it was about half kids and half teenagers without costumes who shove a pillow case at you/grown ass adults holding out a bag "for the baby." For the baby, my ass. It's for you. And anyway, babies shouldn't eat candy. So either way I'm shaking my head, sad at it all.

But now that I have a kid things are different. We didn't take him trick-or-treating (see above comment re: babies and candy), but he did help me pass out candy to the kids (and grown-ups) and that was awesome. Perhaps a little frustrating to the sweatsuit clad "kids" who wouldn't even need a fake I.D. to buy a pack of cigarettes. But with real, actual kids he was a hit. I'd give him something from the candy bowl and he'd drop it in the bag. He caught on to this really quickly and took his job very seriously. In between bursts of kids he'd wait at the window, sometimes pounding his Tootsie Roll-filled fists against the glass when he saw kids on the other side of the street, trying to get their attention.

Gavin's candy handing out skills aren't surprising since he's all about the preposition "in" these days (also I think it helped that he has never eaten candy and thus didn't really recognize the items he was handling as edible so much. Otherwise I don't think he'd be so keen to let them fall from his grasp). He likes to put things away. In fact, the other day he actually corrected me, though he didn't know that's what he was doing. I was putting dishes away and there were a couple of Tupperware (except, not Tupperware since I don't think we own anything that brand, I just can't think of what to call it) lids that needed to be put away in the drawer where we keep such lids. Only that drawer is a pain in the ass and always has too many lids in it and to put anything away in there you often have to rearrange everything and I was just not in the mood. So I put the lids in the cupboard with the containers themselves, which is the cupboard Gavin is allowed to get into. Later in the day he decided to pull stuff out of the cupboard (a favorite pastime) and while he was engaged with that I turned my back for a second to let the dogs inside. When I turned around he was pulling at the lid drawer, which does not open easily. "Do you want to open that?" I asked him. Since it's just a bunch of lids I thought, sure, why not? And as I reached for the drawer I saw he had the two lids I'd put in the cupboard in his hand. Sure enough, when I opened the drawer he put them both in. This pretty much blew my mind.

On Thursday Gavin's day care had a Halloween party. Gavin went as a dog. His Granny Marilyn bought him the costume. He looked very cute, needless to say. He did not leave his costume on long and I can't really blame him. He had playing to do and couldn't be weighed down by his canine persona. There were so many adorable kids in costumes. One baby, a few months younger than Gavin, was dressed as Yoda and it was pretty much the cutest baby costume I've ever seen (well, besides this). I really loved getting to watch Gavin in action at day care. Granted, the room was crowded with kids decked out in costume and their parents so it wasn't exactly a picture of the day-to-day operations. But I got to see where he eats lunch. In fact, Stacy even gave him a little angel food cake that he ate sitting at his little table. It's clear that his day care teachers like him quite a bit. He seems to like them, too, though was a little shy because of all the commotion and didn't give Shelly his customary high-five. We'd also kept him up late so we could go to the party, so that probably didn't help his disposition. Even so, he was happy and perfectly content to push a walker and then a pink toy umbrella stroller around the room, seemingly oblivious to all of the long legs all around him. "He loves that stroller," Debbie said. So now when I picture him at day care I picture him pushing that around, talking to himself. Not unlike a homeless person with a shopping cart.

Yesterday morning and the morning before that I was greeted first thing with a big sloppy Gavin kiss. Open mouth, always. In fact, he sucker-clamped onto my face with no warning and managed to lick my teeth. Super gross. I'm a very big supporter of brushing and gargling in the morning before I do anything else with my mouth. Still, it was adorable in that it sure beats him jetting out of bed without even acknowledging I exist, which is how it's been for a long time now. (For the record, he does not sleep with us, but Stacy brings him in the bed in the morning to nurse. Then we all get to cuddle. And it is very nice.) In fact the other day he actually clung to me when Stacy tried to take him. Because I am a kind and caring wife I did not say, "See how it feels?" Actually I did. That's exactly what I said.

Monster mash for Aiden

And by "mash" I mean "get out your credit card." Aiden is a five-year-old monster artist (he draws monsters. He is not a monster himself) and his wares are for sale on Etsy. Aiden has Leukemia and the money from his monster goods goes toward his care. I learned about Aiden via Regretsy who set up a Zazzle store to sell stuff with Aiden's monsters on them. His drawings are pretty awesome and you should want one even if he didn't have cancer. But he does. And that's scary and awful and sad and as a mom -- and as a human being (most days) -- I cannot even begin to imagine such a thing. So put some money where the monster is. Get your holiday shopping done, even.

For more about Aiden visit his blog. You can also find him on Facebook.

Tuesday, Oct. 26: Dancing Bear

Gavin is, at long last, dancing. This is pretty much a dream come true for me. I don't know that there is anything cuter than a baby dancing, nor a more perfect picture of uninhibited movement. Gavin is, of course, not a good dancer, and by "good" I mean he knows no moves besides movement itself and rhythm is periphery. However, I argue that he is a perfect dancer, unburdened by self-consciousness and the shackles of rhythmic expectation. And did I mention how cute it is? I have been waiting for Gavin to dance for what seems like forever. Lisa's son has been dancing since before his first birthday. He's six weeks older than Gavin so for the past several months I figured that any day now Gavin would shake his groove thing. (Cue Etta James here.) The first song I saw him dance to was one of the tunes from his Chicco rucksack toy (a toy that I think is dumb, but I got on mega-clearance at Borders last year and he likes it okay). I wasn't quite sure if what I saw him doing was dancing or if he'd just momentarily lost his balance. So I brought him out in the living room and played Huey Lewis and the News "I Want a New Drug." Sure enough, that was dancing. Mind you he was at all times preoccupied with something else when he was shakin' what his mamas gave him, but I just take that to mean he's a multitasker and the music's in him. Today he danced to several Robyn songs and a little Saint Etienne that Laura put on.

Gavin does not sing yet, however. I assure you that when he does part of my heart and brain will simultaneously implode. Unless, of course, I have some kind of cuteness overload relief valve -- and come to think of it I must otherwise I would have imploded a long time ago.

Waving is still Gavin's favorite skill of choice. He waves at everyone (unless prompted. Then he won't. He has to feel it. Waving can't be forced). Today he even waved at Jon Stewart. Yes, of the Daily Show fame. No, Jon Stewart wasn't in our home nor are we letting Gavin watch TV. However, Laura was sitting on the couch watching a clip from The Daily Show on the computer. Gavin and Stacy were also on the couch, though Gavin was preoccupied with Stacy on the other end. At some point the computer screen caught his eye and he ended up right next to Laura and he started to wave at Jon Stewart. More than once. Laura also said that he waved at some Fox News commentator who was also on the screen briefly (and let's be honest, he probably didn't deserve it). Stacy surmised that perhaps since Gavin Skypes with his Granny Marilyn that's where he got the idea that moving images on the computer of people talking equals an interactive experience. In any case, Laura swears it was adorable and I have no doubt. None.

Speaking of adorable, Gavin had his school picture taken yesterday. We sent him to day care with a long sleeved button down shirt and a neck tie. Shelly, his day care teacher, reported that he looked very handsome. She also told Stacy that she almost had to be in our son's picture because Gavin wasn't all that wild about picture day and didn't want her to put him down. Probably if he could have had time to acclimate he would have been fine, but school photo day waits for no one. They've got a lot of kids to cycle through there. In any case, she said she managed to not only put him down long enough for a photo to be taken, but she also got a tiny smile out of him. I can't wait to see that picture.

I'm proud to report that Gavin has not peed through his clothes for the past two nights. The week before that was another, sadder, story. Basically he had a cold and so was drinking a lot and peeing. A lot. And his diapers (at the time Pampers Baby Dry, which are supposed to last 12 hours but do not) just couldn't handle it. One of the things I was making him were Baby Arnold Palmers, which is half water, half white grape juice (Stacy read somewhere that white grape juice is more nutritional or something than the standard kiddie choice, apple juice. I honestly can't remember why). He likes those a lot. He doesn't get a lot of sugar. So when he, say, eats bananas, he goes nuts. I have to slice up and quarter bananas and then slowly dole the pieces out or he will shove fistful after fistful into his maw like a savage animal. It's both fascinating and obscene.

And now I must go make Gavin's lunch even though it is part 9 p.m. and I am exhausted already. I'll probably just throw some snack-size Butterfingers and juice box in his lunch bag and call it a night. I'm beat.