Friday, May 10, 2013: Huevos paincheros

Gavin hit himself in the huevos last night. He fell going up the metal ladder on the playground and landed, hard, with one leg on either side of a rung. I've heard rumors that this hurts very much, and judging from the look on my son's face, his tears, and his subsequent wailing of, "I need an ice pack," I believe the rumors are true. I'm happy to report that, post ice pack, he and his huevos are doing fine.

Granted, you don't need to have nuts to feel the pain of getting kicked in the nethers. Which reminds me of a time in junior high gym class when a girl fell on the balance beam and landed crotch first, and, while the girl struggled to hold back tears from the pain, a boy said, "Good thing you're a girl or that would really hurt." And that is when I decided that boys were dumb.

Except I have a boy of my own now and no longer believe that. It's amazing how having a boy has changed my attitude about and my feelings toward males. It's not like I was ever a man-hating feminist. I was simply a feminist who was very cautious and more than a little afraid of boys and men. And understandably so considering that males are the biggest threat on earth to females. I am now a feminist (I've always been a feminist, damn it, and am deeply confused by women who say they are not feminists) who, though still wary when appropriate, can't help but see every male as somebody's son. Hence the warm and fuzzy feelings toward some dudes, especially dudes who spark an idea of what my son might be like some day. And dudes who are adorable.

Speaking of adorable, Gavin made something for us at school for Mothers' Day that is "a surprise and a secret." He hid it somewhere in his room. At first he put it under his pillow, but Stacy reminded him that we would likely find it there when we tuck him in at night. So he put it somewhere else, though I don't know where. I hope he remembers because I really want to know what it is.

For Stacy, Gavin and I are going to give her a [REDACTED] and a [REDACTED] for Mothers' Day. Gavin is very excited about this. He said in the car on the way to school the other day, "Don't forget about Mommy's [REDACTED] because Mothers' Day is very soon." I hope she likes it. I have a feeling that Gavin will be getting a [REDACTED], too. Gavin and Stacy have something up their sleeves for me. I don't know what it is (but I sure hope it's this).

Gavin really likes the whole concept of secrets and is really good at keeping them, which is both adorable and terrifying. He's also become quite the liar. Granted, telling tales is normal for kids, but still. A case in point: Gavin likes to play with the door stopper which is screwed into the back of the bathroom door. This causes it to frequently fall out. This is a new door stopper to replace the one he previously broke. We've asked him not to play with it, but he has not received, from me at least, a decisive "hands off" directive. Or, I suppose, "feet off" is more appropriate since he can reach it with his feet while he's on the toilet. In any case, the other day the door stopper was on the floor behind the toilet, a sure sign that it had been tampered with. So Stacy asked Gavin why the door stopper was on the floor and he claimed that "the wind" had "blowed through the window" and knocked it out. Keep in mind, Stacy and I were not angry when the question was posed, so there wasn't a compelling emotional reason to lie. Still, he did. And we told him that we didn't believe him. I explained that if the wind really did blow through the bathroom window hard enough to unscrew a door stopper then the force of the wind would have wrecked everything in the bathroom, not just that. He insisted on the wind story and I told him that I was disappointed that he wasn't telling the truth and that lying was a much bigger problem than the door stopper being on the floor in the first place and was much more likely to get him in trouble. If I remember correctly, Stacy then told him he couldn't have dessert, which was a total bummer for him. Well, yesterday the same thing happened: Gavin was in the bathroom, Stacy came in and noticed the door stopper on the floor and Gavin said, "I did that. It wasn't the wind," adding, a little cautiously, "And I'm not in trouble." And, indeed, he was not.

Another thing Gavin didn't get in trouble for was what we learned at his parent-teacher conference last night. This is because his teacher basically told us that he is amazing and wonderful and everybody loves him. Which was news to us! Seriously, he got a lot of praise from his teacher. He participates a lot, listens well, is very polite. She's especially impressed with how well he speaks and understands Spanish (he goes to a Spanish immersion Montessori preschool). His language skills really are quite remarkable. In just the last month he has started speaking to me in complete Spanish sentences. Whenever I read him a book in Spanish (which is rare since they have to be the SUPER easy books for me to even have a chance and he is getting too sophisticated for those books) and I don't know a word I ask him and even though he can't read it, he can either tell me from memory or he will explain what the page is about, using complete Spanish sentences that really does not clarify anything at all for me, but it does blow my mind. Granted, I can't take credit for any of this since it is Stacy who is the Spanish teacher and she has been speaking to him in Spanish since he was born. Most of the time I get what they're saying to each other, though not always. And they both politely tolerate my broken Spanglish.

Oh, and behold, Gavin's Official 2013 Preschool Portrait:

Granted, I did take him to JCPenney late last year to have his school photo done because I didn't know if they were doing school photos at his school and I wanted to maintain the shirt and tie motif I had going. But my motto is you can never have too many school photos. :) I should note, that I took him to JCPenney not because I thought they would take really good pictures, but precisely because I knew they would not, which would help capture the utilitarian school photo essence I love so much. This is actually his second preschool photo as his first one was terrible. I have already been berated by Lisa for not taking a photo of this photo for comparison sakes, but I did not. And I had to return the package to the photographer in order to take advantage of "retakes," which I didn't even know were a thing any more since the dawn of digital cameras. But in his previous photo he was grimacing and had 3-4 chins. I'm much happier with this photo, in which he basically looks like he's in a preschool One Direction cover band in the role of Harry Styles. Not that I can even name a single One Direction song, but I'm proud of my son for following his dream and will go to all of his shows. Especially because I will have to drive him.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013: Parent trap

On Tuesday morning Gavin woke up and did not come directly into our room to get into bed with us. This is unusual, but not unheard of. When Stacy got up she reported back to me that he was playing with trains or blocks in his room. "Something clicky," she said. No sooner had the words left her mouth Gavin bolted out of his room and into the bathroom where he promptly peed and pooped. As he is not an expert wiper yet (I am looking forward to that day), he asked for some help and I obliged. I then asked him what he was playing with in his room this morning, wanting to know what the something clicky thing was because in my mind Duplo blocks are clickier than a wooden train set and, well, I wanted to know. Also I was just making chit chat. In response Gavin said, "I don't need to cuddle with grown ups any more." I answered, "You don't, huh?" And, with his thinking face on, he said, "No, because I'm not afraid of the dark." Huh, I thought. And I admit I was a little sad because I really dig the early morning family snuggle up but know he will outgrow it eventually. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

Looking back on this morning I see there were several red flags. Staying in his room by himself, for one. Running to go pee on his own without prompting is another ("I don't need to go pee" is basically his catch phrase). Then hurrying to go get dressed, which never happens. Every morning I try to get this kid to hurry the hell up and put on his clothes for school and it is never something that happens without intervention of some kind on my part. I had put all of these things together and concluded that my little boy was growing up.

It turned out he had just peed his bed. While he was pulling on a pair of clean chonies, I noticed his PJ pants and underwear on the floor of his room looked wet. And, indeed, they were. Dude had peed himself in the middle of the night and was trying to keep it on the down low.

When I asked him why he didn't come into our room to tell us he said, "I didn't want to get pee in your bed." Which I can certainly appreciate. I, too, do not want pee in my bed. But I also want my son to ask for help when he needs it.

My guess is that his reluctance to cop to his night peeing was that the day before he'd peed his pants for the first time in a long time, which ended a pretty good streak of him getting to choose when and whether he peed. Our insistance that he pee at certain times (in the morning, before dinner, before bed for example) was becoming a power struggle and so I decided that it was a silly thing to fight about. And so I told him that he could choose when to pee so long as he listened to his body. But should he have an accident because he's not listening to his body, his moms will once again get to do the choosing. And so here we are.

On our way to the gym on Tuesday Gavin and I were talking and he was telling me how to say some word in Spanish. "I'm your teacher," he said. Then he added, "Mommy is my teacher." I reminded him that I was also a teacher, though not of Spanish. "What have I taught you?" I asked. "You taught me how to aim," he said. "When I pee." If it is appropriate to say that my son has incredibly good aim and if he credits me with that ability, well, I'm a proud Mama.

Speaking of life skills presumably taught by fathers, Gavin is very into "Let's play Mommy, Baby, and Daddy" right now. This morning when we were all snuggling in bed he announced that Stacy would be Mommy, he would be Baby, and I would be Daddy. I declined. We had this same conversation yesterday. When he asked me to be the daddy I said, "How about I be a mommy?" He, a little exasperated, kept explaining to me, "We're just pretending!" And I know that. But, well, it's not a role I particularly want to play. Because, no duh, he doesn't have a dad and he never will. Do I feel guilty about this? Not exactly. And even though I know he's got it really good in life with his two moms, it's clear that he realizes that most kids he knows have a mom and a dad and that some day someone is going to give him shit for it. And so by wanting to play Mommy, Daddy, and Baby (mind you, the characters are not always human. Often it's cats or puffins or robots) he's wanting to try on this more traditional family structure and I'm sure that's a normal and healthy thing for a kid with a non-traditional family structure to do, but it's also a reminder that a dad is just not something I can ever give him.

And then tonight when I got home from work Stacy and I were cuddling with Gavin on our bed. He was between us, one of his moms on either side. He flung out his arms similar to how a crossing guard might to keep kids from crossing the street. He said, "No..." followed by a rather dramatic pause. And with one arm over Stacy and the other arm over me he said, "No dads allowed." Then he popped his thumb in his mouth and snuggled back up and we all stayed like that for a nice, though not nearly long enough, while.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013: That's what he said

There are some things that Gavin says that one day he'll say "correctly" and my heart will break a little bit. Like how when he was first starting to talk and he called me "Dirt." I loved it. The first time he called me "Mama D" I was a little crestfallen. I've come up with a list of some of his current Gavinisms:

• "Mazagine." He really likes to get those free auto trader guides that probably no one with an Internet connection looks at anymore. He calls them his car mazagines. His interest in them once he has them is minimal though. I think he mostly likes opening the paper boxes outside of CVS. 
• "Affinity," though he's leaning toward infinity now. He is very interested in the concept of infinity. A kid at school told him it was the biggest number and he definitely believes that bigger is better. So much so, in fact, that he tries to make infinity bigger by tacking on the biggest numbers he knows. For example, the other day in the car he told Stacy that he loved her "more than infinity one hundred."
• "Think so" instead of think. As in, "I think so Norm is going to play soccer." Norm is our neighbor and Gavin enjoys tracking his comings and goings. Norm once informed Gavin that he was leaving to go play soccer and now that's pretty much the only thing Gavin thinks Norm does.
• "Yawl pie," you know, "where the speed comes out." If you're confused, you can imagine how I felt until I realized he was trying to say "exhaust pipe." He's actually pretty good at saying it now, but every now and again he gets tripped up. And I love that he thinks the exhaust pipe releases speed. He also believes that the numbers on the side of race cars indicates how fast they can go.
• "Tell me a water tower story." When we're in the car Gavin often requests that we tell him stories -- ones that we make up on the spot. It's a lot of pressure. It started with asking for a ghost story every time we passed a cemetery. And then one day Stacy told him a story about a water tower. (I should mention that my stories are in English, hers are in Spanish). I don't know what prompted this, but now every time we pass a water tower you can put money on Gavin requesting something from the water tower story genre. A genre Stacy and I are inventing, apparently. At first the stories had to do with people needing water and the water tower not working and someone coming to fix it so people could take baths and wash dishes again. A variation of that broken tower story takes place in a zoo since the Detroit Zoo water tower is one we pass a lot. But that story got boring after awhile (for the story tellers, anyway), and I've diversified telling stories of water towers filled with fish, lemonade, apple cider, and even soft serve ice cream. The last water tower story I told the water tower wasn't a water tower at all but a secret space station that launched a rocket ship.  
• "There's a concert coming on." Gavin is quite the littler performer and when the mood strikes him he likes to sing and play his guitar or drums. When he wants an audience he announces, "There's a concert coming on!" just like when people used to watch TV in the days before DVRs and someone would get up to go to the bathroom during the commercial break and need to be notified immediately when the show was back on because by god you were going to miss something otherwise and the only other way to see the episode again would be to hope for reruns in the summer. 
• "Kids and girls," a.k.a. boys and girls. I'm not entirely sure why he thinks "kids" are only boys, but it is probably related to the fact that he is a kid and a boy and that's just how it works in his brain. Also maybe because he's a young sexist in training. 
• Jek ski instead of jet ski. This is largely a mispronunciation rather than a misunderstanding. He knows about jet skis, of course, from watching Eastbound & Down. 
• "Paper toilet." No one Gavin speaks English with says "paper toilet" instead of toilet paper. And yet this term adorably persists. He does not even seem to be aware that is not how other people say it in English. It's a translation he's cobbled out of the Spanish papel higiénico.

Speaking of Spanish, as I have mentioned, Gavin goes to a Spanish immersion preschool. Today he brought home a painting of a horse (yesterday he did a painting of a cow. He is a very thorough painter, covering every inch of a picture. He pained the entire cow black to the point where if it didn't say la vaca underneath I wouldn't have known what it was. I asked him if it was a picture of a cow at night and he liked that idea). I said to Gavin, "Oh, today you painted a caballo." And he looked at me with a bit of amazement and said, "You know that word!" And I said that, yes, I did and that I learned it from him. And he said, "This is your Spanish school and I am your teacher." He's right. The Spanish I have learned in the past three years is due to listening to Stacy and Gavin talk to each other and asking a lot of questions. I usually get the gist of their conversations even if I couldn't translate it directly for you. Some words I know especially well because even before Spanish was being bandied about our house Gavin had a hand-me-down Baby Einstein exersaucer when he was little that had buttons with pictures of animals on them. When pressed a voice would say the animal's name in English, then Spanish, and then make the animal's sound. There was cow (vaca), lion (león), dog (perro), cat (gato), and duck (pato), which is the animal I remember most clearly because that button was in the center and so it got pressed a lot. I still sometimes get "Duck, pato, quack quack" said in the weirdly child-like voice of the exersaucer stuck in my head at random moments.

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.

Saturday, September 29, 2012: Pancake Queen

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

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

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

Thursday, Sept. 20, 2012: Homesick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, Sept. 16, 2012: Frenemies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My new favorite thing is the following dialog exchange:

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

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

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

Tuesday, July 31, 2012: Off to go

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, July 23, 2012: Three for three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friday, July 6, 2012: Missing June

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Sunday, May 27, 2012: Ghost story

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

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

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

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

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