Sunday, May 27, 2012: Ghost story

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

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

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

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

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

May 21, 2012: How babies are made

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, May 15, 2012: A Stand Up Guy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, Jan. 31: Quiet Riot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, Jan. 18, 2012: Big Bad Wolf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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