Baby, It's Cold Outside

Big crisis at Stately Wasser Manor yesterday. As my faithful readers know, Jack absolutely adores Roary, his stuffed tiger/security object/BFF. I secretly have four Roaries, so when one needs to be washed, one of his bretheren is ready to fill in. Jack doesn't know that there are more tigers... or at least he didn't. Imagine my surprise when I went downstairs and found this:



Me: Uh-oh.
Steve: I know.
Me: What happened?
Steve: He followed me into the laundry room and spotted the second one. I had to give it to him; I had no choice.
Me: I understand. What did he do?
Steve: He was delighted, and the two tigers immediately started talking to each other. I don't know about what, but one of them seems to be Daddy.

Jack proceeded to carry the two tigers around, happy as could be. I tried to sneak one out of the crib during his nap, but Jack woke up and caught me as I was coming in the room. I was able to remove a tiger when he was distracted. Of course, he later noticed its absence. Jack asked, "Where Ro Daddy?" I deliberately misunderstood and told him where both Roary and Daddy were. He seems to have accepted that Roary's daddy was just visiting.


In other news, it finally snowed! One benefit of the weather being so warm for so long was that I was able to get tremendous bargains on snow gear. I got Jack a pair of boots and a pair of snow bibs for a mere $13 at Target. Jack was so excited about the prospect of playing outside that he was actually willing to put on all this stuff without wailing and fighting me. That's always a plus. I spent a lot of time talking about his new boots as he got ready, so as we were about to step outside, Jack smiled at me and said, "Mommy Dora." I immediately got what he was talking about and asked, "Mommy is Dora and you're Boots?" Jack was so pleased that I understood him. He gave me a cheerful "Yep" and danced like a monkey all the way outside. He spent a lot of time running around saying, "Snow!" Then he joined Ryan, our three-year-old neighbor, in a toddler snowball fight. That is, they'd each scoop up a handfull of snow (which was totally powdery and would't pack if they knew how) and yell, "Snowball" and fling it in each other's general direction. This was good fun for quite a while. Then Jack made the mistake of removing his mittens and picking up a handful of snow. The cold upset him, and we'd been out for a while, so it was time to go inside.

Once inside, Jack learned something that every kid should know. That is, after you play outside in the snow, your mommy will make you hot chocolate. He loved it.

Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons

I probably can’t be fair to this book right now. Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons is an entertaining bit of fluff. It’s beach reading, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Unfortunately, since I’d just read The Time Traveler’s Wife, it’s fluff felt a little too fluffy for me. It was like eating filet mignon and having cotton candy for dessert.

The book follows the decades long friendship of Slip, Faith, Audrey, Merit, and Kari, who are the members of a book club called Angry Housewives Eating Bon Bons (AHEB for short). The characters, though likeable enough, lack depth. There’s the spunky one, the one with the secret past, the sexy one, the beautiful one, and the maternal one, and not a whole lot of nuance beyond that shorthand.

The women have problems and challenges to overcome, but those problems get solved in an awfully tidy way. Kari confesses to her adopted daughter Julia that her birth mother is Kari’s niece, Mary Jo. Julia is upset by the deception and doesn’t talk to her mother for months, filling her with anguish. That anguish, though mostly happens off camera, and the two of them work it out with little fanfare. More egregiously, Merit is abused by her husband, but having her friends witness one time what she’s put up with for years is all it takes to make her decide to get out of her marriage. It’s all a little too simple.

This book read like countless other books I’ve read about women with long friendships and offered nothing new. In a month, I’ll have forgotten all about it.

Mess? Yes!

Mary P. recently wrote about "Mrs. Immaculate," who threw a fit any time her son completed a day of daycare looking anything less than picture perfect. I think that's absolutely ridiculous. If you want your kid to have a chance to explore, to be curious, to LEARN, not to mention to have fun, they're going to get messy in the process.

Last night, Steve looked at Jack's sneakers, and they painted a picture of exactly what he'd been up to that day. The bottoms were coated in a sticky mix of Play-Doh and rice. We laughed about it and agreed that it looked like Jack had a great day. This morning, I shared that story with Ms. Marzia, one of Jack's new teachers. She said that they have the kids help make Play-Doh, and that they get even messier on that day. I think that's so cool.

Jack doesn't own a single article of clothing that can't be thrown in the washing machine, and that includes even his dressiest outfits. I remember back before I had the Cublet, I was shopping with my mom. She held up a tiny white dress, embroidered with blue flowers. It was beautiful, but, I said, any child of mine would immediately get chocolate ice cream right on that pretty little dress.

In other news, now that I've been at this Mommying gig for two years, I feel a lot more confident and competent than I did before. Sure, Jack will throw me for a loop every now and then, but my 2006 New Year's Resolution that I am in charge and know what I'm doing is proving true. This morning, I woke Jack up and found his face and sheets smeared in blood. He'd had a bloody nose in the night.

I think in the first year or so, this would have really worried me. I'd have called his doctor, looked up nosebleeds in at least two books, done a Google search, and posted a missive to the Mommy group. But this time, I shrugged, figured it was because he's got a cold and the air is dry, and washed his face. If he keeps getting nosebleeds, then I'll worry about it, but I don't think this is any big deal. It's nice to feel competent.

Getting Dressed

Me: Okay, Jack. Time to put on your shirt.
Jack: Noo!
Me: Come on, Cub. Put on your shirt and we'll go bye bye.
Jack: Noooo!
Roary: I'll wear the shirt. It looks nice.
Me: Roary, you can't wear Jack's shirt!
Jack (laughing): Ro!
Roary: It's going to look good.
(Roary puts on Jack's shirt)
Me: Oh, Roary. Oh, no.
Roary: What? It's nice?
Me: Jack, come look at this.
Jack: Too big, Ro.
Me: Jack, do you want to put on the shirt?
Jack: Yep.

I can then repeat this little scene over and over again for each and every article of clothing. It sure would be easier if that little nutball would just let me get him dressed, but at least "too big, Ro" works.

The Time Traveler's Wife

I'm in two book clubs right now. That's a lot of reading, which is fine because I read fast and read a lot. It also means that I wind up reading books that I might not have picked up otherwise. Sometimes, that's not a good thing. In my brief membership in what I called the Everybody's Mormon But Me book club, I read two books and hated both of them. But usually, I read books that I absolutely love and might not have grabbed off the shelves otherwise.

I might well have read The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, and I'm glad that my Bad Genious Book Club picked it so I would. It was an absolutely beautiful story that I can't stop thinking about.

Henry is the time traveler of the title, and Claire is the wife. Henry has a genetic disorder (explained in adequate, but not boring detail) that causes him to travel back and forth in time, usually during times of stress. He can't control when he time travels or where he goes, but he tends to go to places or to meet people who are important to him. As a result, he travels frequently to meet Claire, his future wife.

The first time Claire meets Henry, she is six and he is in his forties. They have clandestine meetings throughout Claire's childhood and adolescence, and Claire falls in love with him. Henry, however, doesn't meet Claire until he's 28 and Claire is 20. It is fascinating to see how time folds in on itself. In the earlier meetings, Henry knows much about their future; in later meetings, Claire does.

The book made me think a lot about free will. Henry has discovered that you cannot change your past. His mother dies horribly in a car accident, and Henry time travels repeatedly to that scene, but finds himself powerless to change it. But does Claire have free will? If she hadn't known from an early age that she'd end up marrying Henry, would she have asked him out when she meets him at 20? If she hadn't known that one of the most trying periods of their life would turn out well, would she have handled it differently? If Henry hadn't told her that as an adult, she loves coffee with cream and sugar, would she have?

There are, of course, elements of science fiction to the book, but first and foremost, it is a love story. Claire is a Penelope, waiting for her traveller to return to her, and Henry is Odysseus, trying desperately to get to her. How they make their unusual lives work is a real testament to their love.

I can't wait for book club discussion to begin. In the meantime, Steve is reading the book and I am loving talking about it with him. This was a great start to 2007's reading.

Hey, Mickey!

Steve and I made the bold move today of taking Jack to Chuck E. Cheese for the first time. Would it be a morning of family fun? Or would it be a hell of tantrums that we paid a small fortune for? We were brave enough to find out.

When we pulled up to the restaurant, Jack spotted the picture of Mr. Charles E. Cheese and delightedly shouted, "Mickey!" The kid is obviously going to be a blast when we go to Disney World this fall. Inside, we headed to the small toddler-geared section in the back. Toddler World was made up mainly of the kind of rides that I remember going on in the mall for 10 cents. You know - sit on the horsey, be gently rocked back and forth. Jack was a big fan of that, in particular the one featuring a purple dinosaur who shall not be named (at least it wasn't the Teletubbies one).

He then checked out a toddler version of Wack-A-Mole, several other little kid games, and had a great time watching the other kids play. He especially enjoyed trying to put his tickets (oh yeah, we were big winners, and if we do as well next time, we can redeem our tickets for a pack of Smarties) into all of the machines. He loved the merry go round best of all, riding it about seven times.

The place truly is like a kid Vegas, with risk of sensory overload everywhere. At one point, we were thisclose to a tantrum. Jack handed me his tickets, and like a fool, I took them. He then proceeded to say, "MINE!" and was about to cry. I got down to his level and said, "It's okay, Jack," and I could see in his face that he was about to lose it but really, really didn't want to. I picked him up and asked if he needed a break, and he nodded and said, "Yep."

In a stroke of luck, that's exactly when our pizza was ready. We had a table in a relatively quiet corner, and amazingly enough, Jack ate incredibly well. He had a ton of pizza, as well as several chunks of melon. I remember when he was a baby, I didn't ever feed him in a room with a ceiling fan, because who can eat with that kind of excitment around? We have come a long way.

After we finished eating, Chuck E. Cheese himself came out to make the rounds. Jack cried, "Mickey!" and we went to say hi to him. Jack gave the mouse a high five and probably baffled the guy by saying, "Hi, Mickey." With that, it was time to go. Amazingly, Jack did not have a tantrum, as we repeatedly told him that Mickey went bye bye.

In the car, Jack was still thrilled about this amazing experience he'd just had. He kept saying, "Mickey! Pizza! Neigh! Mickey bye bye!" Then, he made every cent we spent worth it by saying (unprompted), "Tank oo, Mama. Tank oo, Daddy."

So Long, Sippies...

One of the advantages to being a bad mommy and sending my kid to daycare is that I don't have to spearhead every single transition Jack makes. As I mentioned earlier this week, Jack is currently making the transition to the big exciting world of Group 3. He's been spending a little more time there every day, and it seems to be going really well. When I ask him if he likes it, he says, "Yep," and "More Amy," since I told him that he'll be seeing his friend Amy more often. (I think that Jack likes Amy because of her resemblance to Dora the Explorer.) The teachers say that he is happy there, even comforting another kid who was crying. And this morning, a squeaky voiced Roary said that he likes it too. All good news.

I was a little worried, though, that things would be done differently over there. They have real tables and chairs, not the chairs attached to tables thing that his current room has. That's no big deal, since Jack shunned the high chair a few months ago. My biggest concern was about naps. I got the good news this morning that Group 3 also takes naps at noon, "long naps," according to the teacher. The only change besides the tables, she told me, is that they don't use sippy cups any more. They can hang onto them for a few weeks, but then it's time for a regular cup.

Jack can drink out of a regular cup. He's been able to for quite a while, actually. The problem is that Jack enjoys taking a few swigs out of the cup, then pouring the rest on the floor. I cannot tell you how delighted I am that someone else can help me break him of this habit.

Defending Angelina

Angelina Jolie, bless her heart (which my friend Jon correctly figured out is a disclaimer that allows you to say anything bad about someone, such as “She doesn’t have the sense God gave a rock, bless her heart) needs to be careful what she says. Recently, she told UK Elle this:

"I think I feel so much more for Madd and Zee because they're survivors, they came through so much. Shiloh seemed so privileged from the moment she was born. I have less inclination to feel for her...I met my other kids when they were 6 months old, they came with a personality. A newborn really is this...Yes, a blob! But now she's starting to have a personality...I'm conscious that I have to make sure I don't ignore her needs, just because I think the others are more vulnerable."

As you can probably imagine, people have a lot to say about it, most of it pretty negative. Lotta from Mom-O-Matic (who is awesome and funny and I have nothing but respect for) says this:

“Mostly, I don't like that her children are being assigned status within the family. Love is love, is love, is love.”

I get where she’s coming from, and I can understand why people are up in arms about this statement. But the thing is this:

Angelina Jolie, I get you.

Angelina Jolie has three kids. One of them is gorgeous, white, and American and was born to ridiculously wealthy parents. The other two she saved from orphanages in third world countries. When your own tiny baby is born, it’s obvious that said tiny baby really needs you. But you might feel even more need when you see a baby in Africa or Cambodia who needs you. Maddox and Zahara needed her in totally different ways than Shiloh does.

It’s not like she doesn’t love Shiloh, it’s just that she loves her differently from her other kids. I think the same would be the case if you had two kids, one who had a disability and the other who didn’t. Obviously, you’d love them both. But you’d feel like the kid with the disability needed you more, or at least in different, clearer ways. You would have to make an effort to give the kid without a disability as much love and attention, since his needs would seem less immediate.

And the other thing? A newborn baby kind of is a blob. For the first several months, you’re not getting much out of that kid other than dirty diapers and crying. No smiles, no laughing, to say nothing of the joy that is a Flying Tackle hug while yelling, “Mama!” You do spend lots of time marveling over the tiny fingers and toes, and just staring at this amazing creature who is now yours. That’s wonderful. But there really is something special about the time when they’re able to give something back to you.

I’m sure it will come as a great comfort to Angelina Jolie that I am on her side. Give me a call, Ange, and we’ll go out and be sexy together while Brad and Steve stay home with the kids.

Definitely My Kid

When Jack was first born, he looked nothing like me at all. He was a tiny, miniature Steve, and frankly, I did not appreciate it one bit. I don't recall Steve retching for several months, having pain in his siatic nerve, or developing giant purple stripes on his butt. Nor do I recall him experiencing several days of labor pains or having this child sliced out of his body. But whatever; I happen to think Steve is a pretty good looking guy, so having two of them around is not such a bad thing.

But as Jack's gotten older, he is starting to look more like a mix between us. His eyes are blue like Steve's, but the shape is the same as mine. He also has my nose, and sometimes when I look at him the right way, he reminds me of my brother, who of course resembles me.

But even more importantly, there are things he does that make it very clear that he's not just a Mini Steve, but that he's got lots of his mom in him. There is his tendency to sweat like a male member of the Green family (sorry about that Jack, but at least you escaped the eyebrows). His love for all things created by Jim Henson (Sesame Street, Muppets, Fraggles, etc) is definitely from his mommy.

But even better, he has recently developed a habit -- no, a skill -- that is all me. And that is... making his stuffed animals talk. When I was a kid, each and every one of my stuffed animals had a name (and not some punk name like "Teddy" or "Kitty") and its own distinct voice. Jack is moving in the same direction. Frog Rattle has a deep grown. Big Bird (pronounced "Bi-dah") moves his beak to say hi to Jack. And Roary has more to say than any of the others. Sometimes Roary just nods his approval, but now he also talks, in a voice even higher than Jack's. This morning, Roary was apparently very interested in the story we were reading, pointing to pictures on the page and saying, "That's a cow" and "Baby Deer."

This is definitely my kid

It's a Boy

I'm trying to get better about writing up books that I've read. Steve asked me how many books I read in 2006, and I had no idea. He, of course, has a tidy little list, and that's part of what I intended this to be. So, without further ado...

I recently finished It's a Boy: Women Writers on Raising Sons. As you can guess from the title it is essays written by women who are, um, raising sons. There have been many times when I've watched Jack run around the house like a maniac yelling, "RAAARRR!" when I have wondered if things might be different around here if we had a girl. It's not like I encouraged him to run around roaring rather than sitting quietly. Well, the women who contributed to this book tend to be liberal women like me who don't want any gender stereotypes anywhere near our kids. If our boys want to play with dolls or wear pink feather boas in dress up, that's fine and we'll support them. But despite these open-minded attitudes, many of the women found that their boys were... boys. Instead of being accepting of their sons' desire to play with dolls, they had to accept their desire to not play with dolls.

Makes you wonder if the differences between boys and girls aren't all gender typing by society, but if there are some inherent differences. Sure, the fact that it is nearly impossible to buy an outfit for a baby boy that is not blue and does not have trucks, sports equipment, or tools on it contributes in part to this, but I think if we raised these kids in the wild, away from the influence of Carter's, there would still be behavior on the spectrum that we expect.

The essays were funny, sad, heartbreaking, and just plain interesting. I'd recommend this to all of my fellow Mothers of Boys.

Jack Wasser, Boy Genius

I’m going to ignore some brat-tastic behavior that Jack engaged in over the weekend and focus on the really good stuff. The boy does tend to occasionally act… like a two-year-old… but you know what? I still really like the guy.

On Friday, we got the news from daycare that Jack is, as we put it, Going To The Show. That is, he’s moving up to the big exciting world of Group 3, where they sit at little chairs that are not attached to the table, speak in sentences, and sometimes even do fancy things like use toilets. I think he’s ready for the change (well, not the toilet part, but the rest is good), and I’m happy to hear that his friend Hannah is probably going to make the move with him. It’ll be good for Jack to have a buddy.

Now that Jack is on his fantastic kick of using more and more words, I have been amazed at some of the stuff he’s been able to say. Recently, he picked up his copy of My Oh My Oh Dinosaurs and started “reading” it. That is, he’d point to the picture and say the last word on the page: Happy! Sad! Good! Bad! If he couldn’t actually say the word, he’d at least use the exact inflections that I do when I read it. The kid has apparently been listening to me all this time (mental note: must be careful about the swearing). Even more amazingly, he can count to ten. I have to get him started, but if I count two of the ducks or sheep on the page, he’ll fill in the rest of the numbers. So cool!

Yesterday, he and I started a class called Giggles and Wiggles that’s offered at a local rec center. It’s a lot like Gymboree or My Gym, but because it’s offered by the county, it’s $7 a class as opposed to $20. Jack was the youngest kid in the class, but he was also the least shy and most confident. The other kids either clung to their parents or hid in a corner crying, while Jack happily hopped like a frog, sang “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” or enthusiastically fluttered theh parachute. Now, I know that my kid isn’t going to be the valedictorian of Giggles and Wiggles or anything, but I can’t help but be proud of how self-assured he is, how willing he is to play with new people and try new things.

I am really thrilled about the improved talking. I can now kind of have a conversation with him, at least more than I used to. Last night we were at the gas station, and he kept pointing and saying “Choo choo.” I finally figured out that he was pointing to a big silver truck that was full of gas. I said, “That does look like a choo choo train, but it is a truck. It’s delivering gas to the gas station.” Jack shook his head and said, “Is no a choo choo, Mama. Is truck.” Can’t argue with that.

In Which Betsy Reluctantly Enters the Mommy Wars

So, last week I was hanging out with the Wondercub at playgroup, having a rare and delightful Friday off of work. One mom was talking to another, and I wasn’t really paying attention until I heard her raise her voice slightly to give a sort of disclaimer.

She said that everybody does things differently for their families, and that’s fine. That maybe, for example, cosleeping is okay for you, but I don’t want to do it. And that for her, not staying home with your kids was totally not okay. Not that she was judging.

Except that she absolutely was.

She went on to say that it seems totally unreasonable to her to leave her kids in daycare when they’re too young to express themselves. After all, a baby can’t tell you if someone is hurting her, so by putting your child in daycare, you are potentially putting an innocent in harm’s way. Why would you work when you’ve got these precious children at home? To her, that’s unimaginable… not that there was anything wrong with that for other people.

I realized that her “I’m not judging” disclaimer was directed at me, since at the time, I was the only woman in the room who works outside the home. I was there to have a good time, so I ignored it, but inside, I was seething.

I worked very hard to find a supportive, loving, and nurturing environment for Jack to go to every day. And don’t just hand Jack off and race off in the morning. I’m a presence there. I spend a few minutes chatting with the directors and his teachers. I know all of the teachers in his classroom, as well as most of the kids. I play with Jack at school for a few minutes before I leave. Steve does the same thing in the evening. And we drop by unexpectedly, just to spy on him through the windows. If anything untoward were happening, I would know.

I also think there are tremendous advantages to having Jack in daycare. Although he doesn’t have an siblings, he has a host of other kids to play with and to be forced to share toys with. One of his teachers speaks Spanish to him all day, so he can say several words in a foreign language. Even more importantly, I think it’s wonderful that Jack knows that there are more than two people (Mommy and Daddy) who can take care of him. He’s a lot more independent as a result.

And why do I work when I have this precious child? I don’t have a high powered career, nor do I make piles and piles of money. I do love my job and find it fulfilling, but that’s not the primary reason I get up early and drive to work every day. It’s so that I can afford little luxuries like a house, diapers, and groceries. It must be lovely to have the choice to stay home with your kids, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone has that same choice. It would be great if all children had a parent who could devote themselves to their full-time care, but if only people who could afford that had kids, that would leave out a lot of very good parents.

I’m sure the other mom didn’t mean to be as critical of my choices, but she was. I hate the concept of “The Mommy Wars.” Parenting is a tough job, and working moms and stay at home moms have more alike than they’re different. As women, we need to support our sisters, not tear down their choices to rationalize our own.

Catching Up, Part 2: Christmas

I was loving and sympathetic about Jack’s stomach problems on Christmas Eve, but even more so when I found myself experiencing the very same problem. Nooo! The last thing I wanted was to feel sick on Christmas, especially with a house full of family coming. Steve surveyed his pitiful sick family and promised that as an extra gift to me, he’d take care of everything that needed to be taken care of. That of course, is a pretty big gift, especially since we needed to make dinner still. Check us out, looking like hell:



But more importantly, I didn’t want to miss anything. Jack was feeling fine, and I didn’t want to be pathetically stationed in bed or on the couch while he gleefully ripped through all of the presents from Santa. I decided to do my best to get my strength up. I sipped a cup of very weak coffee, then while everyone else dined on chocolate chip pancakes and bacon, I took tiny bites of one of Jack’s Dora The Explorer yogurts. Amazingly, it worked, and I felt okay again.

Jack was thrilled at the piles of presents downstairs, shouting, “Santa!” He’d open a gift, then upon seeing, say, Fisher Price animals, beg, “Abra! Abra!” Then, as I attempted to rip out the freaking vacuum sealed, multiwired creatures from their package, Jack would move on to the next gift, which he also needed someone to abrir.

Big hits from Christmas included the aforementioned little plastic animals, Elmo DVDs, a Sesame Street CD (“Bye bye? Ernie? Duck?”), and, amazingly, a set of flash cards. The flash cards have pictures on them and the corresponding letters of the alphabet. Jack is fascinated by them. We talk about the letters some, but since he’s really working on trying to learn the words for absolutely everything around him, he loves talking about what the pictures are. Thanks to the flash cards, Jack can now say words such as mitten, mouse, yo yo, and zebra. Pretty cool. He also loves shoving the cards into his shape sorter, between the cushions of the couch, and onto his airplane.

The massive amount of presents were a bit intimidating to the Cub, so we took a break midway through so he and Steve could go for a brief walk outside. We also saved some gifts for the next day. No sense in having Christmas magic include a tantrum.

Christmas gets more fun with the kid every year. The first year, Jack’s Christmas included such fun things as his first ever bath, lots of sleeping, and having his dad stumble through diaper changes. Hey, he was only one day old! The next year was a blur of presents and craziness. But this year, I got to hear Jack say, “Santa!” in reverent tones, request Christmas books, and even sing carols (if you count yelling “Hey” during “Jingle Bells” which I obviously do).

Catching up, part 1: Christmas Eve

Inexplicably, my tiny baby boy is now two years old. It is amazing to think of all of the ways he's grown and changed over the past year. A year ago, he'd only been walking for a month and was working out the finer details of not falling on his face. Now he can walk, run, walk using silly steps, jump, climb, and moonwalk. When he was one, he communicated by crying and grunting. Now he's busting out all kinds of words, in English and Spanish, two and three word phrases, and even showing us simple sentences. ("No more nigh-nigh, Daddy. Daddy up.") He developed a fierce loyalty to his stuffed tiger Roary, saw the ocean for the first time, and got to give Elmo a hug at Sesame Place. He can scribble with crayons, sing to himself, dance like a loon, climb into a chair, and eat an astonishing amount of pizza. He can climb up the stairs to the big slide at the playground, then rush down face first. He can indentify most of the things in pictures in his books, and he can even fill in words in books that he reads often. If you ask, "How old is Jack," he gives an enthusiastic, "Two!" Oh, and did I mention that he can fall asleep by himself and sleep all night? Because believe me, that's a big one!

Our celebration of Jack's second birthday didn't go exactly as planned. The poor little man was sick the day before (in spectacular technicolor in front of the entire family) so we decided to take it easy. We spent the day doing Jack's favorite things around the house -- watching Sesame Street, playing, and going to the park. Then he opened his presents. His big present from us was a kitchen, and he absolutely loves it. Jack has since spent many the hours making us fries in his oven, then cutting me off with a "No more fries, Mama."


Although he seemed okay all day, Steve and I decided to play it safe and not go out for pizza for dinner or to Build-A-Bear. I did, however, make Elmo cupcakes for him. Jack absolutely loved his cupcake... right until he threw it up, again in front of everybody.

You've got to admire his tenacity, though: As I grabbed him so we could go upstairs to clean up, Jack said, "More cake?" He's going to be great in college.

Happy birthday, big guy. I love you and am proud of you.

Christmas Miracle

Last night, I witnessed a true Christmas miracle: Jack behaved himself at the grocery store. Below is a picture of the last time that happened, taken in May of 2006. It was a surprise then, too.

Usually, Jack stays home while I go shopping, and we are much better friends because of it. But tonight, there was just no getting around it -- we needed food, and Steve was working late. Armed with bribes and distractions (raisins and Roary), I took the plunge, planning to handle the inevitable whining with a zen-like calm.

Jack immediately selected a car cart and happily started driving and munching on raisins. His interest in the car ended at exactly the same time as he ran out of raisins and he asked to get out. Fine, since by that time we were almost done shopping. He didn't want to sit in the cart, preferring intead to "help" Mommy push the cart.

I was pretty sure it was a bad idea, but hey -- zen-like calm, so I gave it a shot. Surprisingly, that worked out okay. He became very interested in a box of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, probably because he thought it contained the blueberry muffins printed on it. He then made several attempts to heave large cartons of ricotta cheese into the cart, stopping only when he bumped his head on the cart. I picked him up and gave him kisses, but he stopped crying when Roary took over and roared at the cart, called it a jerk, and kicked it for hurting Jack. I then figured out that he wasn't hinting that I make lasagna, but rather thought the cartons were of yogurt. I let him pick whatever kind he wanted, and naturally he chose the stuff with Boots (and Dora) on it.

Jack astonished me by continuing to behave while I paid for the groceries. For all of this, he was rewarded not only with praise and kisses, but also with dinner from McDonald's. Hey, he earned it!

As I pulled into Donald's, Jack started pointing at the building and enthusiastically saying, "Eat! We eat!" Then he declared, "Fries!" I asked him if he also wanted apples (because, yeah, the apple dippers TOTALLY make a happy meal a healthy choice). "Apple!" he responded enthusiastically. He then chose milk instead of juice, and as we pulled in to the drive through, started a chant of, "Fries! Apple! Milk! Eat!" He gave me a yep in response to my suggestion of chicken. Then he added, "Cake."

Cake?

I told him that he was a silly monkey, that they didn't have cake. I turned around, and he was grinning at me -- he knew he was being funny. We went home and the two of us had a celebration: chicken, fries, apples, and milk for him, wine for me.

Ovations

Yesterday, we took Jack to see Sesame Street Live. I had a conversation not long ago with some other moms about taking your kids to things like this, Wiggles concerts, princesses on ice, and what have you. The debate was whether or not it's worth it. Is it worth the money, the effort, and all for an experience that your kid is not likely to remember?

To me, obviously, it is.

Maybe when Jack is 30, he won't specifically remember going to Sesame Street Live. He won't remember the music, the moment when Bert came out dressed like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, the french fries we ate at intermission, or any of the details. But I do think that he'll come away with certain feelings about his childhood. That mommy and daddy did fun things with him and wanted him to have experiences he'd enjoy. That the three of us did special things together. I think that's important.

The other side of it is that the experience wasn't just about Jack being excited to see Elmo up on stage just a few feet away from him (I got us really good seats). I cannot tell you how happy Steve and I were watching Jack's face when Bert and Ernie came out on stage for the first time. The joy we saw when he stood up and cheered during the finale, the way he yelled, "Hi, Ockers!" every time Oscar's trash can was wheeled out, the way he frantically waved bye bye to each character in turn... all of that made for a really wonderful experience for all three of us.

I-I-O!

Sometimes, you'll hear a song that just speaks to you. You want to listen to it over and over again, learn the lyrics, blast it in the car, sing it in the shower. For me, right now, that song is "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers. For Jack, it's "Old McDonald."

Jack loves "Old McDonald" beyond all reason. When he plays with his barn or tractor, he'll happily arrange the animals, singing, "I-I-O!" to himself. Steve's parents got him some CDs of kid music. He isn't interested in listening to "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt." He just wants me to skip to "I-I-O."

Even more, Jack wants Steve and me to sing him the song pretty much all the time. In the bathtub, after dinner, and especially in the car. He'll say, "I-I-O?" and request specific verses: "Ernie?"

That's right, Ernie. There are a lot more characters living on our farm than just cows, pigs, and horses. Considering how often we have to sing the song, Steve and I have decided to get creative. Jack's favorite is Ernie, who he always insists be followed by Bert, then duck, for Rubber Duckie. Roary likes to sing along with the tigers on the farm. Steve added Santa Claus, and because we're very mature, we always giggle a bit with, "Everywhere a ho, ho!" I also like singing, "And Yoda he had on this farm! E-I-E-I-O!"

Word Up

Jack is in a huge learning spree, rapidly increasing his vocabulary. Just this weekend, he learned three new words (that I can think of; there may be more). Jack can now say pretzel, cupcake, and every little (and big) boy's favorite word, pipper.

Besides that he can now tell us about his pipper while he grabs it during diaper changes, I am really glad that he can talk more. I think Jack's difficulty communicating with us has been a real source of frustration for him. Jack believes that "Mah!" clearly means, "Excuse me, pretty Mommy, but may I please have some yogurt," and must think I'm a complete idiot for not getting it for him. The other night, he said, "Ro? Tiger?" to me, to make crystal clear that he wanted me to get Roary for him.

I also heard Jack having a semblance of a conversation with Roary on Saturday. We got to the car after swimming, and Roary (with a little help from me)asked Jack what he did.

Jack: Agua.
Roary: You went in the agua?
Jack: Yep. Duck.
Roary: You played with the ducks?
Jack: Yep. Spider!
Roary: You saw the picture of the spider?
Jack: Yep.
Roary: Was it fun?
Jack: (Vigorously nods yes)
Me: Roary, did you miss Jack?
Roary: (Vigorously nods yes)

And now, here is a picture of Jack with Stitch, my dad's kitten that he took such a shine to over Thanksgiving.

Rub-A-Dub

Last night was a good night for me and the Cubbers. It has been one week since his surgery, which also means one week since his last bath. It's a good thing he's just a little kid and that it's not a hot sweaty summer, or he'd be pretty ripe by now. Jack has been asking for a bath for a long time, and probably thought I was nuts when I told him no.

After dinner, I asked, "Do you want to go upstairs and take a bath?" Jack said no, then said, "Bath?" Like, "Wait a minute, I retract my reflexive no. You finally have a good idea, woman. Let's go!"

He scrambled up the stairs, then planted himself, fully clothed, in the empty bathtub. It was hilarious. I didn't even bother trying to take him out of the tub to undress him, figuring he'd think I was going back on my word and that he'd be pissed. I stripped him down, then turned on the water. Jack said, "Agua! Yay!" He then happily splashed, used his tub crayons, played with his Sesame Street toys, and got clean until he was a wrinkly little raisin and the water was cold.

In other adorable news, I attempted to get Jack to say Pappy, since Steve's dad and stepmom are visiting today. Jack misunderstood and got very excited talking about his Poppa. I said, "Jack, do you love Poppa?" Jack said, "Yep. And Stitch." I swear, that little kitten made quite the impression. Jack then said, "Poppa, Stitch, ball." Yes, Jack. Good point. Poppa and Stitch do like to play ball.

I think we might need to get this kid a kitty.

Tough Mommying

On Wednesday, I took Jack to see his surgeon, Dr. Jafaar, whose name sounds evil. First, it took us an hour to get the approximately 20 miles to the doctor's office. Then we had to wait for an hour, much of which I spent trying to convince Jack that it was not time to go bye bye. When Evil Dr. Jafaar was able to see us, things got harder. He had to clean Jack's incision with alcohol, and some of it got in Jack's eye. Jack started screaming and crying, just in time for us to have to remove the stitches. A nurse and I held him down on a table, Evil Dr. Jafaar unwrapped a very sharp object and told me to look away. Happy to oblige! While Jack screamed and struggled, I sang "Old McDonald" to him and told him it was okay.

But, God, it did not feel okay at all. My little guy was screaming and fighting. He was scared, and I don't blame him. I would be too, if someone was working a scalpel by my eye. I wanted to just grab him, run out of there, and maybe remove the stitches myself using nail scissors while he was asleep.

Finally, it was over. Evil Dr. Jafaar told Jack he did a good job, then patted me on the shoulder and said, "You did a good job, too, Mommy." I think he was genuinely impressed, because believe me, I was totally putting on a brave front.

After another hour of driving to get home, I decided I'd done enough tough mommying work for the day and engaged in some excellent lazy mommying: I put Elmo Saves Christmas on and cuddled with Jack until Steve got home.

The good news is, Jack healed great, and we can put this whole episode behind us. I am really proud of how well my little guy did with what had to have been a very stressful and scary situation.

Perfect World

It appears that, for a few days anyway, we at Stately Wasser Manor are living in a perfect world. Here's how our days are going:

I wake up in the morning, chug some coffee, and go to work. I arrive at the unYodaly hour of 7:00. There I remain until noon, when I head home.

Meanwhile, the boys are having Guy Time, hanging out, and having fun. Steve puts Jack down for his nap, so he and I have time to have a leisurely lunch together and to talk without anyone requesting that we sing "Old MacDonald."

While Jack naps, I do both work-work and work around the house-work. When he wakes up, I'm refreshed, energized, and ready to have fun. He and I then have Mommy-Son time until Steve gets home from work at 6:30-ish.

It is a fabulous balance between work and home, allowing me to get done just about everything that needs to be done. Alas, this Brigadoon will soon vanish. We are only on this abbreviated schedule for another day. When Jack gets his stitches out tomorrow, he's back to daycare, and Steve and I are back to normal life. And really, I can only get away with doing my work-work in five hours instead of eight for only so long before it'll pile up and bury me in an avalance.

But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy it. Also, here are some more pictures of a Perfect World: me and Jack snuggling on the sofa over Thanksgiving and my dad feeding Jack a doughnut.

Relief

Good news! Jack's surgery is over, and he did great. Yeah, he looks a little rough in this picture, but I mainly chose it because I'm sure he'll think it's badass. The surgery was on Thursday, and Jack somehow did not notice that we didn't let him have breakfast, not to mention his daily glass of milk, which he seems to crave like I crave coffee. We met with the surgical team, and all went well. Then the anesthesiologist gave us a sedative so that Jack wouldn't freak out when they put the mask on him. He promised it would knock him out in about 10 minutes.

Thirty minutes later, Jack was a little dopey, but still totally awake. The kid has the tolerance of a wolverine, I swear. I kept asking him if he wanted to lie down. He'd quickly say no, then go back to turning the little TV on and off. Finally, it was time for him to go. It was hard handing him off to the doctor, but at least I was able to hold him until the last minute, rather than just putting him on a gurney.

The surgery took about an hour. We were in the recovery room when Jack woke up. I'd read that many kids are scared and upset when they wake up from anesthesia, and Jack was no exception. He completely freaked out, crying and yelling. He yanked off his eye patch and threw it on the floor in disgust, then yanked off the band-aid that was under it, as well as Roary's matching one. We then had to fight him to keep him from ripping out his IV. It was no fun at all seeing him so upset, but at least I was prepared for it, so it wasn't as hard for me as it could have been.

We headed home, and Jack fell asleep in the car. A six hour snooze later, and Jack was awake, cheerful, and completely his normal self. The incision doesn't seem to hurt or bother him at all. So much for our concerns that he'd mess with it and pull out a stitch.

The only little wrinkle is that poor Jack really wants to take a bath, and we can't let him. The stitches have to stay dry, and that kid loves to splash. Last night, we were upstairs, and he pointed to the bathroom door and said, "Bath?" I told him no. Jack probably figured I didn't understand, so he tried another tactic: "Agua?" Again, I said no. Jack must have thought I was nuts. What kind of Mommy won't give their kid a bath? Finally, he grabbed his bottle of shampoo and handed it to me. Poor little man. I compromised by taking him downstairs to watch Elmo.

And now, for a Thanksgiving update!

Road Trip: I do not recommend taking a 16+ hour car trip with a crazy-ass toddler. Jack was as good as could be expected, but all three of us were worn out by the time it was all over.

Almost Heaven? One of the more challenging aspects of the trip came on Tuesday morning, when Jack got carsick and projectile vomited all over himself and his car seat. Luckily, we were near a drug store, so Steve got the little man in clean clothes and went to browse while I bought paper towels and Febreze to clean it all up, as we couldn't exactly wash the cover right then and there. I used my Super Mommy Powers to do the cleaning -- it was incredibly gross, but at the time, I was fine.

Ockers: At the drugstore, I bought Jack a "Hey, I'm Sorry You Puked" present in form of a small stuffed Oscar the Grouch. Jack took an immediate shine to it, and kept asking for "Ockers."

The Amazing Race: My brother and Ariel also drove to Illinois for Thanksgiving (from Baltimore). During Driving Day 1, Andy and Steve talked on the phone and we ascertained that we were several hours ahead of them. When we went to bed that night in scenic Santa Claus, Indiana, I was confident we'd arrive in Murphysboro several hours ahead. Andy, on the other hand, drove and drove, then woke up at the crack of dawn in order to get there an hour before we did. Steve and Ariel were all, "I didn't realize this was a race." Dumbasses. Of course it was!

Riley: I got to meet my new three-month old nephew, Riley. He is a cutie, and probably the most laid-back baby I have ever seen. I think I heard him cry once. Jack was fairly interested in him, and would point to him and say, "Baby!" or "Riley!" He also would bring Riley his binky, which was nice. Especially since he totally could have stolen them.

Stitch: My dad has a new kitten named Stitch that Jack was totally in love with. It took him about two seconds to learn how to say "Stitch" which is a bit disturbing considering that he still refuses to say "Grandma." He'd follow the cat around the house, play ball with him, and generally adored him. Several times, I had to tell him, "No, Jack. The kitty doesn't want a sticker."

Battle of the Green Bean Casseroles: Seeing as how we are from the midwest, a staple of our Thanksgiving table is green bean casserole. It consists of canned green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and french fried onions. It is awesome. Andy decided to make a snobby, pretenious version of it that he found in Cook's Illustrated magazine, while Jenny made the traditional version. The battle was on! Jenny spent about ten minutes making hers (open cans, stir, bake), while Andy spent roughly an hour on his, chopping the fresh green beans, mincing shallots, making the mushroom soup from scratch, and so on. Everyone agreed that Jenny's version was superior.

Film Critic: We always go to a movie with the kids the day after Thanksgiving, and this year, we decided to see if Jack would go, too. We went to see Happy Feet. Jack absolutely loved the previews, and was especially psyched about the one for Charlotte's Web ("Spider!" "EIEIO!") The movie started, and after about two seconds of it, Jack decided that he'd had enough. He grabbed my hand and removed me from the theater, making it clear that any other response from me would result in a tantrum. We returned to the theater with about two minutes left, and it was pretty clear that the movie was teh suck. My cousin Rob announced that Jack has a future as a film critic.

Ho, ho, ho! Luckily, the movie theater was in a mall, so we had good places to kill time. We took Jack to see Santa, after Jack pointed at him and excitedly yelled, "Ho, ho, ho!" To the surprise of no one, Jack was not at all afraid of Santa.

Out of mixers: We ended up staying up late on Friday night drinking with my cousins, which is always fun. Unfortunately we ran out of wine. Then beer. Then fruit juices for mixers. We wound up squeezing fresh oranges to make rum drinks, which was freaking awesome. Sure, it was a lot of work, but far be it for us to stop drinking.

Danny isn't here, Mrs. Torrance: On the drive home, Jack adopted a new Creepy Voice™, which sounds a lot like the one Danny used in The Shining. Best of all, the phrase Jack says in Creepy Voice™? "Bye, bye, Daddy!" It is awesome. And creepy.

Roary Rules

Jack and I had a very nice Mommy-Son Saturday this week. We had swimming class, and before that, we went to Burger King together for breakfast. In Jack's kids' meal was a little stuffed tiger. Major score! I named him Stripey, and Jack spent a lot of time excitedly pointing at Stripey and Roary and saying, "Tiger!" Stripey and Roary also roared at each other for a while, but it seemed to be in a friendly way. Even though Jack insisted on taking both tigers with us to Target, Roary seemed secure. After all, he is and always will be the #1 tiger in Jack's heart.

After swimming, Stripey stayed in the car, again showing Roary's superior status. Then on Sunday, when we got home from the mall, I handed Stripey to Jack, saying we should bring him inside.

Jack yelled, "NO MORE!" and threw Stripey across the car. He then pulled Roary over and gave him a big kiss. Triumphant, Jack yelled to Stripey, "BUH-BYE!"

Clearly, Jack is a one tiger man.

What Happened?

I can't believe it's been over a month since my last entry. I'd call myself a slacker, but the fact of the matter is, the only part of my life that I've slacked off in has been the blog. Here's a quick update:

• Steve and I went for a romantic weekend away in Charlottesville. Romantic, in particular, because of course, it was just the two of us. We stayed at a bed and breakfast in, as Steve put it, "God's pantry," a million miles away from just about everything. Before we had Jack, we would have packed in all kinds of activities -- sightseeing, restaurants, bars, maybe a concert or play. But this time, we were thrilled to be able to just laze around and read, take naps, and take our sweet time getting ready in the morning. We returned totally recharged -- and totally ready to see our Cub again.
• Jack's surgery has been rescheduled. It was supposed to happen on November 9, but the surgeon advised we change the date because he had a cold. It was really frustrating, because although I haven't exactly been looking forward to it, I was ready. I had everything lined up at work for me to be away for a while, and I was as mentally prepared as possible for it to happen. And Jack's a toddler in day care. It's November. When is he not going to have a cold? Anyway, the new date is November 30, and Steve and I are going to do everything short of putting him in a plastic bubble to try to keep him healthy so we don't have to reschedule again.
• Jack continues to be a funny, enthusiastic, and energetic little kid. Why walk when you can run, and why stand when you can hop? I've been worried about how he'll do as the weather gets colder and we can play outside less, because he tends to get cabin fever. To that end, I've enrolled us in some Toddler and Me swimming lessons every Saturday morning. And by "swimming," I mean, "standing in the swimming pool and singing songs." Jack absolutely loves it. At our first lesson, he beamed the entire time. At the beginning of the class, the instructor handed each kid a rubber duck and had us wait at the side of the pool while she gave instructions. The other kids sat placidly and held their ducks, while my kid repeatedly threw his in the water and laughed when I retrieved it. I don't think this means I've got the naughty kid in the class. Actually, I think it's weird that none of the other kids threw their ducks in the pool. Anyway, we are making Mommy-Son Saturday mornings routine, and it's great fun.
• I've been insanely busy at work. It's been a good kind of busy, but busy nonetheless. My company has a big party every year called Hingeing Day, each year with a different theme. This year, it was The Lost Temple of Hinge, kind of a Mayan-Aztec-Incan civilization-meets Indiana Jones. I love it when my job requires me to do things like find a giant rubber anaconda on the internet or build a large step pyramid in the office.
• I've got huge changes on the horizon, changes I'm too superstitious to talk about it quite yet. No, I am not pregnant.

And finally, here is a picture of me and the boys as superheroes. Jack refused to let Roary wear his Supertiger cape, but he was more than happy to wear his own Flash mask. He loved trick or treating, and also loved giving all of his candy to the other kids who came to our house.

Bad Words

Steve and I took Jack to Cox Farms yesterday for their Fall Festival. Yes, I'l post pictures later. One of the many fun things we did was going on a hayride. All through the hayride route, there were big wooden cutouts of pumpkins, ghosts, witches, and also characters from movies and such, like Shrek.

All of a sudden, Jack got a huge smile on his face, leaned forward, pointed to one, and said loudly, "Barney!"

I don't know where the hell he learned that kind of language, but it sure as fuck wasn't in my house.

Updates

First and most importantly, Jack had his pre-surgery CT scan yesterday. It went amazingly well. The radiologist said that they probably would not have to use a contrast dye, which meant no IV. If Jack could stay still for the scan, they wouldn't need to sedate him. The kid is not quite two years old and very energetic, so I really didn't that would be possible. But amazingly, he pulled it off, contentedly petting Roary while Steve and I sang to him. That meant the whole thing took a lot less time than we thought it would, so we celebrated with breakfast in the cafeteria, then took him to school so he could have some normalcy.

Second, Sesame Place was an absolute blast! The look on Jack's face when he leaned in to give Elmo a big hug was an incredibly happy moment for me. And, of course, I have pictures.

Getting ready for a ride

Watching the parade with Daddy

Elmo airplane!

Meeting Big Bird and Elmo

Cookie!

Ernie!

Bert!

Cute and furry Grover!

And, in case Sesame Place was just not enough fun for him, we went to Boyd's Bear Country on the way home. Here Jack has surrounded himself (and Roary) with stuffed pigs.

Where the air is sweet

Tomorrow, dreams come true for Mr. Jackson W. Snugglecub: we are taking him to Sesame Place. It's an amusement park, mainly geared towards the toddler set, with a Sesame Street theme. It is pretty much the kind of place that exists only in Jack's imagination... or so he thinks!

I can't wait to take Jack to Twiddlebug Land, to splash in Little Bird's Bird Bath, to see the giant statue of Big Bird, and most of all, to meet Elmo in person!

I printed a map of the park and a brochure for Jack, and the two of us have been looking at them in the evenings. Jack seems to like what he sees, laughing like the Count, pointing out "Elmo! Ernie! Cookie!" Steve's parents are coming along, so I do believe there's a better than average chance that the little man will walk away from this with a new sweatshirt or two.

It's Time

Over the past 21 months, I think I've really grown in my confidence as a mom. In those early days, I wanted to consult a variety of sources to determine the very best way to do everything from feed Jack to put on his diaper to hold him. But this year, my New Year's resolution was not a thing to do or a habit to break so much as it was an attitude to embrace: I am in charge, and I know what I'm doing.

This mantra has really helped me a lot. My instincts are, for the most part, good, and I should follow them. Anyone who wants to question them can just stuff it, because I'm not interested in hearing it. If, for example, Steve's parents decide to show up at Stately Wasser Manor smack dab in the middle of nap time and are eager to see our darling boy, then they will just have to by-God wait, because sleep is important. When Jack was dehydrated from his stomach flu several months back, I made the decision that even though it would be hard, we should give him IV fluids.

Well, last night, I took charge again. I told Steve, "Honey, it's time," in a way that I did not when I was in labor, seeing as how my turning purple and writhing in pain made that fairly clear. It was time to take the plunge, and to introduce Jack to the wonderful world of...

peanut butter. Yes, peanut butter, the thing we'd avoided giving him all this time for fear of nut allergies. Believe me, I do not want the kid to have nut allergies, and I waited a long time to introduce the food. But I gave it to him last night without the express written consent of his pediatrician because I decided he could have it and because I am in charge and I know what I'm doing.

Let me tell you, Jack's little face lit up at the very first bite of peanut butter. He probably wonders why I've been holding out on him all this time. I smeared some on a very sturdy cracker, and Jack proceeded to just lick the stuff off and have me refill it. He laughed, he smiled, he politely asked, "Mores?" I applauded the fact that I've found something else he'll eat.

Just wait until he graduates to PB&J. He's going to be thrilled.

Beware the Clowns

Steve and I took a pre-surgery tour yesterday afternoon of Children's Medical Center, where Jack's surgery will be. We opted not to bring him with us, because for one he's too little to really benefit from seeing the place in advance, and also because we could concentrate better without him there.

I'm really glad we went, for lots of reasons. It helps us both to be able to picture where everything is. It also takes some of the stress away now that we know how to get there, where to park, where to check in, and all of that. We got good information about how they handle the anesthesia -- we will give Jack a raspberry flavored sedative liquid before they even put the mask on him, so he should be plenty calm and relaxed. They even put a bubblegum scented liquid in the mask so the medicine doesn't smell so bad, something I remember from when I had my tonsils out. Everything is bright and cheerful, and there are lots of good toys for Jack to play with while we wait. We can also take a pager with us so we can go to the cafeteria during his surgery, a nice option. Amazingly, the hospital employs several concierges, who can arrange anything from emergency toiletries to hotel accomodations. Steve and I agreed that it would be well worth the money for us to get a hotel room near the hospital and spend the night there. If Jack's surgery is, say, at 8:00 AM, we'd have to be there at 6:00 to check in, which would mean leaving the house at around 4:00 to make sure we got there on time. Screw that -- I'd much rather pay for a hotel room than try to navigate traffic and a cranky kid who we can't give any breakfast to on a day that we're already stressed. Steve joked that we should ask the concierge a lot of questions about whether or not the hotel has a bar, when last call is, and how often the room's mini bar is restocked.

Of course, at the same time, the tour was upsetting. The other families on the tour all had their kids with them, and the kids were all much older than Jack. Probably the next youngest one was around 3. Jack just seems so little, too little to understand all of the reassuring things that the tour guide said, for example, about your "special hospital gown." I know he'll be in good hands, but I can't help but being scared.

Oh, we also learned that the hospital's mascot, Dr. Bear, is often around to say hello to the children. That's cool. Less cool is knowing that they also have a brigade of clowns there to "cheer up" the patients. Creep us all the hell out, is more like it.

Mission: Impossible

I awoke this morning to the sound of Jack crying, and in my groggy state, I thought it was around 5:00 and he'd just woken up early. I went into his room, gave him his binky, and he went back to sleep for a grand total of five minutes. He woke up again in hysterics, so I staggered back into his room and gave him some drugs because he is a teething fool. As soon as I left the room, he started crying again.

Ugh.

I tried to ignore it for a while, but at this point, I was wide awake and in no mood to listen to him scream. Weirder, Jack was both crying and yelling out random nouns: Daddy! Elmo! Apple! I went into his room and cuddled with him on the rocking chair. It was really nice. I asked him if he was ready to go back in his crib, and he said yes. But then as soon as I put him down, he started crying again.

That's when I got serious. I dangled above his crib, both feet off the ground, Mission: Impossible style and held him and rubbed his back. I gradually went from that to patting him through the bars. Then I just sat on the floor next to his crib. Every few minutes, Jack would roll over to make sure I was still there. After he was good and calm, I left his room, put in ear plugs, and waited out the five minutes it took for him to settle down.

So, ugh.

The good news is that we have a fancy new coffee maker at work. It makes an excellent single serving of coffee, tea, or hot chocolate, and it also makes lattes and cappucinos. I love it very, very much and have secretly nicknamed it "Baby." Baby will help me today, oh yes it will.

Eye

So, yesterday was a hard day. Jack has a small bump next to his eye that we've been investigating. I took him for an x-ray, which came out normal. Steve took Jack to the eye doctor yesterday, and we found out that the bump by his eye is a benign cyst.

Benign is good, of course, but Jack is going to have to have surgery to have it removed. We will take him to Children's Hospital in a few weeks for a CT scan, then about four weeks after that, he'll have outpatient surgery. The doctor will remove the cyst, make some stitches under the skin, and some on the skin.

Jack will have to wear an eye patch for a couple of days, then we'll have to keep him from messing with his stitches until they're removed a week later. I really don't know how I'm supposed to keep a 1-1/2 year old kid from doing that, and the doctor wasn't much help. He just said, "Well, he'll just have to." Great, how about some information I can use? The good thing is that other than that little moment, Steve really liked the doctor and was comfortable with him. And as Steve said, Jack isn't the first kid to have this happen, so we'll just keep asking for advice from doctors and nurses and eventually we'll get something helpful.

The surgery is not major or serious, and if it were me getting it, I wouldn't be worried at all. But I hate to have Jack go through that. I don't want him to feel scared or in pain. I don't want him to have to be brave when he's such a little kid. But I also know that this is something that has to be done, and that I need to be strong for him. Most of the time I am feeling okay about it, but every once in a while, fear creeps up on me.

Book Time

I've been kind of slacking lately on posting my book reviews, so I have a little bit of catch up to do. I just finished Freddy and Fredericka by Mark Helprin. Freddy is the Prince of Wales and heir to the English throne, and Fredericka is his wife. When the story begins, Freddy is not near ready to be king. His ridiculous antics make him fodder for the tabloids, and no one respects him. Fredericka is beloved by the press, but she is beautiful and simple minded. When Freddy and Fredericka's respectability reaches a crisis point, the Queen calls in a mysterious advisor named Mr. Neil. Mr. Neil (whose name is an anagram for Merlin) gives Freddy and Fredericka a quest: They must conquer the United States.

The premise of the book is great, and parts of it are absolutely hysterical. There are also soaring descriptions of the United States, of the changes that the prince and princess undergo, and of their love story. Unfortunately, at over 500 pages, the book could have used some editing. Towards the end, I was rolling my eyes at yet another comic misunderstanding. Still, overall, this was good fun.

Although I love writer Nick Hornby, I was reluctant to pick up his book A Long Way Down. Four people meet at the top of a tall building on New Year's Eve, all with the intent to commit suicide. Didn't sound appealing to me. But I read it, and damned if he didn't make it funny and engaging. I read this a few months ago at the beach, and it was the perfect vacation read. The characters were interesting, the action moved quickly, and the story absolutely made me laugh. I'll pick this one up again.

Grab Bag

Time for me to post some random stuff, with no unifying theme!

No exaggeration, I have read Goodnight Moon at least eight times in the past 24 hours. Jack keeps bringing it to me to read, and one of the excellent things about being a toddler is that if you hand somebody a book, they will snuggle with you and read it to you. And when they finish reading it, if you smile at them and say, "Mores?" they'll read it again. Anyway, Jack managed to impress me with his obvious brilliance recently. When I got to the line, "And a quiet old lady who was whispering," Jack filled in the next line: "Hush."

Clearly, the boy is gifted, no?

Steve and I have been on high alert recently because there have been four cases of Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease in Jack's class at school. Besides its name sounding vaguely medieval, like bubonic plague or someething, the actual symptoms sound really nasty. Painful sores in the mouth that make it difficult for some children to eat? Thanks, we'll pass. Thus we've been practicing OCD levels of hand washing with him, as well as giving him a bath every night instead of every other night. So yesterday, the kid's nap schedule was all screwed up. Refused to sleep at his usual time of 12:00, preferring to get in more time with Mommy and Daddy. I took him on a nature walk (fun, and at a pace of about two inches a minute, clearly tons of exercise), and on the way home at 5:00, he passed out in his car seat. I put him in his crib for a short nap and hoped that Steve and I might manage a dinner alone. He woke up about 45 minutes later freaking out. I found him in his crib, sobbing and staring at the wall like a mental patient. He would not stop sobbing, no matter what we did to comfort or distract him. We totally feared the worst, so I took his temperature -- normal. Good. Steve took advantage of his screaming to peer into his mouth with a flashlight for the dreaded Painful Sores. None to be seen, but we did see about eight billion new teeth painfully breaking through his gums. Some Tylenol, Ambesol, and a fudgecicle later, and the boy was good as new. Everybody cross your fingers that Jack will avoid the plague.

And as our final piece of Grab Bag Goodness, Steve and I have established a new tradition at Stately Wasser Manor. Every Friday night, the three of us will gather at Starbucks for Family Happy Hour. Jack will have some vanilla milk and a treat, and we'll have coffees. Then after the Cub goes to bed, Steve and I will get takeout and watch a movie. I really like the idea of incorporating some ritual and tradition into our everyday lives. It's something I now look forward to every week, and Steve and I have been carefully selecting the best Netflix movie and reserving it for Fridays. As Jack gets older, he'll join us for dinner, then for the movie. We'll keep things kid friendly, of course, but I know there are a wealth of options besides Elmo's World The Great Outdoors that the three of us can watch.

The Necklace

Last night, I accidentally dropped one of my necklaces down the drain of the bathroom sink. And not just any necklace. The blue zircon, the one that Steve gave me as a "thanks for giving birth to our child, you gorgeous goddess" present when I was pregnant. By the time he got home from his run, I was in approximately the same mental state as when I was eight and accidentally dropped my stuffed dinosaur/BFF Rexa out the window of our moving car (my dad saved her). Steve had me get a bucket and then go to our hillbilly neighbors to borrow a pipe wrench while I tried not to sob.

Five minutes later, plink! Out came my necklace!

Let's review some of the things Steve did last night, shall we?

• Washed the dishes
• Snuggled on the coach with Jack and Roary and read them stories about tigers
• Went running
• Rescued my necklace from the drain.

I'd say that my husband is sexsayier than a firefighter. Played by George Clooney.

Sharing

Jack loves to share, but only when it's his idea. There are times when he'll joyfully offer me on of his cookies, or even his binky. He will also give swigs of his milk or bites of cracker to Roary, which is just about the cutest thing ever. When he does this, I praise him like crazy and tell him how nice that is and how it makes Roary happy that Jack shared his milk. Roary will nod enthusiastically and hug Jack.

But when Jack's not in the mood to share?

Oh, hell no.

Last night, the Cub and I were hanging out in front of Stately Wasser Manor, and Jack was playing with some sidewalk chalk. The way he plays with chalk is to take it in and out of the bin, not actually draw with it. But whatever -- it's fun for him. Then Ryan, our three-year-old neighbor came by and wanted to play chalk with Jack. He took the bin, and Jack completely flipped out. He screamed and cried so loudly that Steve came outside because he thought that Jack had fallen down and hurt himself. It was ridiculous.

Maura, Ryan's mom, convinced Ryan to keep some of the chalk and just give Jack the bin back. The second he did that, Jack stopped crying and cheerred right on up. In fact, he then started handing Ryan pieces of chalk. Maura and I told him how nice it was for him to share.

Eventually, it'll sink in.

Serious Mommying Work

I was giving Jack a bath the other night, and he was happily roaming around the tub. Then, he toddled over to the faucet and pulled up the lever to turn the shower on. Water rained down on him, and it scared the life out of him. Poor Jack stood under the cascades of agua, confused and crying.

I turned off the shower, but he was still freaked out. Between sobs, he demanded, "Out" and pointed to the safe haven outside of the tub. No dice, buddy, not when I haven't had a chance to wash the applesauce out of your hair.

I tried to explain to Jack that it was okay, and there was no agua falling on his head, but he'd have none of it. Finally, I suggested that he take a break. I wrapped him in a big fluffy towel and held him. We talked about the agua, and I showed him how the shower turns on and promised him I wouldn't do that while he was in the tub. He seemed to understand, but still didn't want to get in the water. Then I lined up each and every one of his billions of bath toys and let him push them into the tub. That cheered him up. Then he was willing to stand and look into the water. I asked him if he was ready to get back in the agua, and he finally said, "Okay, okay."

I think I actually circumvented a possible fear, because he was well and truly wigged out by the water. If I had pushed forward and washed his hair, we might have had problems. I really felt like a good mommy, which is a nice feeling every once in a while!

In the moment

This morning, Jack woke up a bit early, and believe it or not, Steve and I were pretty organized, so I decided that he and I had time to walk to school instead of driving. Anyone who's ever met a toddler knows that if you want to go somewhere in a hurry, you do not walk with a toddler. But we had plenty of time, so there was no need to drag him along or rush.

Walking to school with my little guy was an absolutely wonderful way to start the day. For one thing, it truly makes my heart happy to walk along with his little hand in mine. It's also a great way to feel completely in the moment. To take the time to admire a particularly nice stick on the ground. To excitedly point to airplanes (and yell "AIRPLANE!"). To look at the flowers. To, just for the heck of it, stop walking and jump like a frog. Jack takes so much pleasure in the world around him. It's nice to be able to see the world through his eyes.

It Followed Him to School One Day...

So, as cranky as Jack was all last weekend, I think that things are turning around for him. Yesterday, I took him to the doctor in the morning. Naturally, Roary came with us. In a slightly scary situation, the little tiger makes him feel much better. When we got to school, I suggested several times that Roary stay in the car, or that Jack give Roary to Mommy, and Jack declined, cluthing Roary to his chest, saying, "Mine, Jack."

Since Roary has become Jack's special security animal, I've been reluctant to have him bring Roary where there are other kids, especially to school. Roary is not just any toy. He is special and important, and Jack should not have to share him. But it doesn't really seem fair for him to bring a toy around other kids that he isn't going to share. For that reason, usually I'll take Roary away from Jack before school, tears be damned.

But yesterday, I didn't. It had been a rough day for the little man, and I thought he deserved to have Roary for a while longer. It was just for one day, and hopefully it would work out okay.

It turns out that it worked out better than okay.

Steve picked Jack up from school, and Ms. Maria asked Steve to please let Jack bring his tiger every day. Roary, she said, put Jack in a much better mood, and he napped better than usual when he had Roary. The tiger managed to score himself a scholarship, I guess.

This morning, Jack and Roary happily played while I ate breakfast. Jack must have been psyched that at no point did I try to convince him to give Roary to Daddy. I said, "Roary, are you going to school today?" Jack made Roary nod yes. When the three of us arrived at school, Ms. Stephanie, the director, said, "Hi, Jack! Hi, Tiger!" We introduced Roary, and she said that all day long, Jack showed Roary to her and said, "tiger." Apparently, Jack knows the word tiger and has been holding out on me, since I didn't know he knew that word. Stephanie said that he can even say tiger through his binky -- impressive.

Jack, Roary, and I went to his classroom. I explained to Ms. Esthella that Maria had recommended that we bring Roary. She agreed that it was a good idea. I told her that Jack does not share Roary, and that if it became a problem, to please let us know and we'd keep Roary at home. Esthella doesn't think it'll be an issue at all. Other kids sometimes bring security objects with them, and the teachers just explain to the other kids, "No, that's Jack's tiger." The other toddlers get that and respect it. When I left, Jack was introducing Roary to the plastic animals that he likes to play with.

The Loooong Weekend

Last weekend was Labor Day weekend, and let me tell you, I labored. Jack was a whiny little punk, probably due to the thousands of molars he was cutting, and needed near-constant entertainment and attention. To make matters even harder, it was rainy, so we couldn't go outside to play as much as we would have liked. Every little thing would set him off, and it was absolutely exhausting.

On Monday, he woke up a full hour and a half earlier than expected from his nap. That was frustrating, as Steve and I didn't get nearly the break we needed. But I was determined to carry on and make the most of it. Steve and I changed clothes, I packed up a mini cooler of drinks and snacks, got out the baby backpack, and was ready to take Jack on a nature walk at a nearby trail. The second we set foot outside the house, it started to rain. Son of a bitch! I had to adjust quickly and pick a much less thrilling option of going to the mall so Jack could hang out at the play area there, visit Build-A-Bear workshop, and other less educational things. Jack proceeded to whine his way through the mall and pitched a fit because we would not let him spend the entire afternoon jumpking up and down in one of the display cribs at Pottery Barn Kids.

By the drive home, we were worn out. Steve begged for an hour off so he wouldn't snap. I was fine with that, but admitted that I was really, really ready to go back to work the next day so I could get a break. Jack handled this stressful situation by wiggling one arm free from his car seat strap and crying about it.

Ugh.

When will these molars be gone? And how will we survive the cabin fever of winter?

Mr. Green Genes

Before we met Jack, there were so many things Steve and I wondered about him. It's interesting to look at your partner and, for the first time, seriously consider their DNA. Would he have his dad's blue eyes? Would he have brown hair like me? Or, more seriously, would he be plagued with Steve's high cholesterol?

It's too early to say about the cholesterol, of course, but we do know that Jack got his dad's blond hair and blue eyes. He seems to have my nose, and the shape of his eyes is like mine. But when we were out playing in the recent hot weather, I noticed that the back of Jack's head was getting a little bit moist. That's right: it would seem that Jack is sweating like a male member of the Green family.

Sorry about that, kid.

Pac-Man Fever

Jack has taken to begging for food lately. He'll spot something he wants -- say, Steve's glass of water. He'll then point to it, and in quickly increasing levels of franticness, say, "Agua! Agua! AGUA!" as if he is in a dessert and has just come upon a beautiful oasis, with ice-cold water poured by Elmo himself. Then, to really show he means business, he'll open his mouth as wide as he can, like a Pez dispenser or Pac-Man and will say, "Aaaaah!"

Feeling Good

I promise not to post too obsessively about this. Really.

I've been doing Weight Watchers for 6 weeks now and have lost more than 10 pounds. More importantly, I feel really healthy. I'm eating tons of fresh fruits and vegetables and am finally drinking enough water. I've also found that, thanks to some really great recipes, I am eating better food and am enjoying it more than before I decided to lose weight. How amazing is it that I can eat things like bacon cheeseburgers and onion rings and still lose weight? Now granted, they were turkey burgers with turkey bacon and a moderate amount of cheese, and the onion rings were baked, but they tasted damned good.

Now that I'm paying closer attention to what I'm eating, I'm horrified at the calorie and fat content of some of the food I was eating before. Those cinnamon scones from Starbucks? Holy Yoda! One scone was well over 2/3 of the calories I eat now in an entire day. It's not like I thought they were healthy before, but I just had no idea how bad they were. With portion sizes so out of control, it's really no wonder that so many Americans are obese.

Knowing how good I feel and how well I'm treating my body, even after I finish losing weight, I can't imagine going back to the diet I had before. Things have changed in a big way, and I'm proud of it.

Even better, I've rediscovered my old friend running. I have several 30 minute running playlists on my iPod now, so the time goes fast and my pace is much better than it was before. Going for a half hour run is a guilt-free way to spend some time by myself every night, something that I think I really needed.

I'm about three pounds away from my goal weight, so I'm inspired to find my next big goal. Next year, I am going to run the Quad Cities Marathon. Running a marathon has long been one of my life goals, and what better place to do it than in my hometown, the place where I learned to love running in the first place? Plus, as my brother pointed out, there is probably no better food in the universe than a post-marathon shake from Whitey's. I'll start training in April.

Booster Gold

Jack has been interested lately in sitting on the kitchen chairs, rather than in his high chair. He might not be totally ready for it yet, but I bought him a booster seat. A couple of days ago, he was testing it out, sitting at the table eating some watermelon with me. The little melon hound polished it off, pointed to the container on the kitchen counter and asked for more.

In the short time it took me to put more watermelon on the plate, Jack climbed down off the chair, picked up the booster seat, carried it across the kitchen, turned it upside down, stood on it, and was trying to open the door to the pantry.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do keep the cookies in the pantry.


What a sneaky little monkey! My dad predicted that something like this would happen. He said that Jack knew how to work door knobs and was just too short to do it yet. I replied that one day he'd be just enough taller to make it happen, but Dad said Jack would figure something else out in the meantime. And that he did. Not only did he realize that the booster would make him taller, but that he'd be taller still if he flipped it upside down. It was a brilliant plan, and the only thing he had to do was get rid of Mommy. And how to do that? Why by asking Mommy for more delicious fruit, sure to get her out of the way so he could get to the cookies. No doubt Mommy, big sucker, would fall for that!

This kid is way too smart for me.

Embracing It

I have been a mom now for almost 20 months, and I have to admit, it's happened:

I love gigantic handbags.

Five days a week, I'm at work all day. I don't need to lug around my diaper back, packed as if I'm going on safari. I could carry around a bag big enough for my keys, wallet, and lipstick. But I've discovered that I really like a gigantic tote bag that carries that, plus a bottle of water, my calendar, and anything else I might possibly need. That's without even getting into carrying stuff for the boys -- a snack, binkies, and toy for Jack, Steve's hat, the camera, and so on. I feel comfortable and put together carrying my big blue bag. I am coveting more and more simple -- and big -- tote bags.

I am carrying a Mom bag, and I am not ashamed!

But the second I start talking about cutting off all of my hair because "it's just easier," somebody stop me, okay?