Just another little quickie because this made me laugh.
Gabe walked up to me in my chair. He spit on his hand and looked at it. "Syrup," he said.
"No," I replied. "That's not syrup. That's spit."
So he licked his hand and held it up to me. "Syrup. Mmmm!" he insisted.
"That's spit, and it's gross, hun," I said. "Nobody wants your spit."
So he licked his hand again. "Syrup, Daddy. Mmmm!" And he held the hand up. "Daddy, syrup!" he said, offering me a taste. "Daddy, you, syrup. Mmmm!" He was very insistent.
What could I do? I took his hand and examined it. "How about some french toast?" I said as I wiped the hand down the front of his shirt.
"French toast. Mmmm!" he said. And that was the end of that. Thankfully.
Monday, November 30, 2009
My First Lego-Related Accident
Legos are such a mixed blessing. On the one hand, they are wonderful little building blocks that encourage imaginative creation. On the other hand, they are a blight on unsuspecting feet everywhere.
Actually, what I had a little while ago wasn't, technically, a Lego related accident. We haven't quite graduated up to Legos just yet. For ages--probably since Gabe was about a year old--we've had a few sets of the really big Lego-style blocks for Gabe to play with. Duplos, maybe? Who knows. There are so many knock-offs and I'm far too lazy to go upstairs and try to find a logo somewhere. But these blocks were pretty giant and, for most purposes, not terribly practical for building things other than what Gabe euphemistically calls "castles"--big, unwieldy constructions that resemble later 20th century American architecture for it's bland blockiness and general disinteresting qualities. These inevitably end up crashing under their own weight, which is just fine for Gabe. He only builds things so he can destroy them, anyway.
But, last night, we started sifting through the various nooks and crannies in our house to find our Christmas decorations, and we stumbled upon a container of Mega Blocks--another knock-off that falls somewhere between a Lego and a Duplo in size. I'm guessing they were a gift from someone last Christmas and, since Gabe was full-on putting everything into his mouth still at that time, we decided to shelve them for awhile. Then, of course, we forgot about them. But, last night, we found the container and pulled them out for Gabe to play with.
He's been having a grand old time with them since. These blocks, being only slightly more well-designed than the Duplos, still only offer limited creative possibilities. In addition to the more traditional "castle," we are also now able to create an "airplane" and a "rocket" (the former a big block with stubby little wings jetting out to the side and the latter a tower that comes to a sort of point). Not surprisingly, Gabe is still more interested in destroying these things than actually building. "Daddy. Rocket," he'll demand. So I build something of a distinctly un-spaceworthy nature, then he knocks it over and breaks it apart. "Daddy. Airplane." And the process repeats.
This was the second picture I took of the offending little buggers. The first one was just the blocks. Seeing me take a picture, though, Gabe said, "Me picture," so I had to take one with him in it, too.
After doing that a few times first thing this morning, we paused for breakfast. Being an idiot, I didn't bother to clean up the blocks. Instead, I brought his highchair with his oatmeal into the living room and set the chair right over the blocks. The saying goes, "out of sight, out of mind," but to my brain's way of thinking, it's always been more "out of the way, out of mind," so I rather forgot they were there.
Breakfast finished and I cleaned Gabe up, took him out of his chair, then picked up the chair to take it back into the kitchen. At that point, the blocks truly were out of sight because the highchair was completely blocking them from my vision (nevermind the fact that I actually noticed them AS I WAS WALKING OVER TO TAKE GABE OUT OF THE CHAIR, that was a full twenty seconds earlier, so obviously I would have forgotten that bit of information already).
I picked up the chair and took a step towards the kitchen--not a ginger, I-don't-know-what-might-be-on-the-floor-so-I-better-be-careful kind of step, either, it was a rest-my-full-weight-on-my-traveling-foot-like-I-don't-have-a-care-in-the-world kind of step--right into the middle of a minefield of Mega Blocks. The pain receptors in my right foot registered at least four pointy corners at the same time. Instinctively, I pulled the foot back up in pain, which made me lose my balance and my footing. I stumbled forward, and surely would have ended up in a tangled, broken mess on the floor with the highchair, except one of the living room chairs caught the base of the high chair and stopped my forward movement after just a few inches. It didn't, however, stop my momentum. I ended up jamming the tray into my abdomen, knocking the wind from me a little, and my left foot, trying to catch up with my body to regain my balance, smashed into the front base of the highchair, peeling off nearly a quarter of the toenail on my big toe (though, strangely, not producing any blood--it was more like it split the top layer of nail or something, but I can't remove it because then it WILL bleed and it will probably hurt considerably more than it does right now). "Mmmm!" I groaned, partly because I'm still trying really hard not to yell or curse in front of the kids, but mostly because I didn't have enough air in my lungs to form a proper curse, and I hobbled the chair out of the room so I could examine the damage.
"Do it again!" Gabe chimed from where he was standing in the middle of the room. And I probably will, but it will have to wait, at least until I can figure out a way to trim this nail down enough to get a sock back on without tearing it all to hell.
Actually, what I had a little while ago wasn't, technically, a Lego related accident. We haven't quite graduated up to Legos just yet. For ages--probably since Gabe was about a year old--we've had a few sets of the really big Lego-style blocks for Gabe to play with. Duplos, maybe? Who knows. There are so many knock-offs and I'm far too lazy to go upstairs and try to find a logo somewhere. But these blocks were pretty giant and, for most purposes, not terribly practical for building things other than what Gabe euphemistically calls "castles"--big, unwieldy constructions that resemble later 20th century American architecture for it's bland blockiness and general disinteresting qualities. These inevitably end up crashing under their own weight, which is just fine for Gabe. He only builds things so he can destroy them, anyway.
But, last night, we started sifting through the various nooks and crannies in our house to find our Christmas decorations, and we stumbled upon a container of Mega Blocks--another knock-off that falls somewhere between a Lego and a Duplo in size. I'm guessing they were a gift from someone last Christmas and, since Gabe was full-on putting everything into his mouth still at that time, we decided to shelve them for awhile. Then, of course, we forgot about them. But, last night, we found the container and pulled them out for Gabe to play with.
He's been having a grand old time with them since. These blocks, being only slightly more well-designed than the Duplos, still only offer limited creative possibilities. In addition to the more traditional "castle," we are also now able to create an "airplane" and a "rocket" (the former a big block with stubby little wings jetting out to the side and the latter a tower that comes to a sort of point). Not surprisingly, Gabe is still more interested in destroying these things than actually building. "Daddy. Rocket," he'll demand. So I build something of a distinctly un-spaceworthy nature, then he knocks it over and breaks it apart. "Daddy. Airplane." And the process repeats.
This was the second picture I took of the offending little buggers. The first one was just the blocks. Seeing me take a picture, though, Gabe said, "Me picture," so I had to take one with him in it, too.Breakfast finished and I cleaned Gabe up, took him out of his chair, then picked up the chair to take it back into the kitchen. At that point, the blocks truly were out of sight because the highchair was completely blocking them from my vision (nevermind the fact that I actually noticed them AS I WAS WALKING OVER TO TAKE GABE OUT OF THE CHAIR, that was a full twenty seconds earlier, so obviously I would have forgotten that bit of information already).
I picked up the chair and took a step towards the kitchen--not a ginger, I-don't-know-what-might-be-on-the-floor-so-I-better-be-careful kind of step, either, it was a rest-my-full-weight-on-my-traveling-foot-like-I-don't-have-a-care-in-the-world kind of step--right into the middle of a minefield of Mega Blocks. The pain receptors in my right foot registered at least four pointy corners at the same time. Instinctively, I pulled the foot back up in pain, which made me lose my balance and my footing. I stumbled forward, and surely would have ended up in a tangled, broken mess on the floor with the highchair, except one of the living room chairs caught the base of the high chair and stopped my forward movement after just a few inches. It didn't, however, stop my momentum. I ended up jamming the tray into my abdomen, knocking the wind from me a little, and my left foot, trying to catch up with my body to regain my balance, smashed into the front base of the highchair, peeling off nearly a quarter of the toenail on my big toe (though, strangely, not producing any blood--it was more like it split the top layer of nail or something, but I can't remove it because then it WILL bleed and it will probably hurt considerably more than it does right now). "Mmmm!" I groaned, partly because I'm still trying really hard not to yell or curse in front of the kids, but mostly because I didn't have enough air in my lungs to form a proper curse, and I hobbled the chair out of the room so I could examine the damage.
"Do it again!" Gabe chimed from where he was standing in the middle of the room. And I probably will, but it will have to wait, at least until I can figure out a way to trim this nail down enough to get a sock back on without tearing it all to hell.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Holiday Week
Not really much of an update to make here. It's been a bit of a rough week. Libby's been off work, which has been great, but pretty much everyone in the house is sick. Button and Gabe are running at the nose, and Libby and I have been fighting congestion, headaches, and other nonsense.
Button has been absolutely miserable all week. She must have a sore throat because she half-chokes every time she starts to drink something then often refuses to eat any more. This is odd considering the girl's fondness for the food up to this point. She's not getting regular sleep because her stuffed nose wakes her up and she really won't go down for naps during the day.
Gabe's dealing with it a little better. He's content to sneeze occasionally and launch a snot rocket or two from his nose. Then he laughs. We ask him to wipe his nose on a kleenex, so he grabs one, and smears the glop all over his mouth and cheeks. Good times, good times.
Thanksgiving was yesterday, and we had a good afternoon with my family. I probably have some pictures I could post, but the camera is MIA for the time being. Maybe later.
Neither Libby nor I will be doing any shopping today because it is my long-held belief that anyone who leaves the house on Black Friday who isn't working is only adding to the problem. The economy can stick it up its butt for all I care. I might, however, do a little online shopping--once again sticking it to the economy by not doing it on Cyber Monday when I'm supposed to, so the economy's butt is going to be chock-o-block full when I'm done with it.
Hope everyone had a good holiday!
Button has been absolutely miserable all week. She must have a sore throat because she half-chokes every time she starts to drink something then often refuses to eat any more. This is odd considering the girl's fondness for the food up to this point. She's not getting regular sleep because her stuffed nose wakes her up and she really won't go down for naps during the day.
Gabe's dealing with it a little better. He's content to sneeze occasionally and launch a snot rocket or two from his nose. Then he laughs. We ask him to wipe his nose on a kleenex, so he grabs one, and smears the glop all over his mouth and cheeks. Good times, good times.
Thanksgiving was yesterday, and we had a good afternoon with my family. I probably have some pictures I could post, but the camera is MIA for the time being. Maybe later.
Neither Libby nor I will be doing any shopping today because it is my long-held belief that anyone who leaves the house on Black Friday who isn't working is only adding to the problem. The economy can stick it up its butt for all I care. I might, however, do a little online shopping--once again sticking it to the economy by not doing it on Cyber Monday when I'm supposed to, so the economy's butt is going to be chock-o-block full when I'm done with it.
Hope everyone had a good holiday!
Monday, November 23, 2009
Bringing the Noise!
Button has reached a new stage in her linguistic development--nearly non-stop noise production.
This is a stage that we're pretty unfamiliar with. Gabe has always been a noisy guy, but it was mostly activity-generated noise--knocking things over, yelling as he's running around the room, doing noisy things to get our attention, that sort of thing. As I've said before, he wasn't really interested in communicating anything but his extreme dislike for whatever he was doing at the time until he started to walk. Once he could get around and do whatever it was his brain deemed interesting, he wasn't interested in sharing his thoughts or feelings on the subject with us, either. So, he pretty much went from screaming and crying all the time to trying his hand at talking.
Button, on the other hand, is a talker--or she probably WILL be. For now, she's just a constant noise-making machine of nearly epic proportions. Finn--Gabe's preordained BFF--is like this too. He will start making noise, for no apparent reason sometimes, and he won't stop until he's found a good enough distraction or he runs out of steam. It's really quite impressive, and not a little annoying. It's like he's giving a speech to the masses, but there are no masses and he's usually not using any words that anyone other than he understands (on more than one occasion we've compared him to the Jodie Foster movie character Nel because it seems like he's invented his own language).
Last night, Libby and I sat down to watch the new Star Trek movie about forty-five minutes before Gabe went to bed. Gabe will let us watch our shows from time to time, but he doesn't like it, and he often makes his discontent known by doing everything he possible can at a loud volume, which he started to do. Then, out of nowhere, Button chimed in. She started bellowing and groaning--as you'll get a taste of in the video. Between the two of them, we couldn't hear a thing from the movie, so we had to stop the movie. Already they are conspiring against us doing anything that doesn't directly entertain them. Kids.
Sadly, we didn't get any video of them both working their mojo last night, but I got a little video of Button doing her thing, sort of, this morning. She was really going good until I got the camera in there, then the flashing light from the camera distracted her and she didn't really work up a full head of steam again while I had it running. But you get the idea.
This is a stage that we're pretty unfamiliar with. Gabe has always been a noisy guy, but it was mostly activity-generated noise--knocking things over, yelling as he's running around the room, doing noisy things to get our attention, that sort of thing. As I've said before, he wasn't really interested in communicating anything but his extreme dislike for whatever he was doing at the time until he started to walk. Once he could get around and do whatever it was his brain deemed interesting, he wasn't interested in sharing his thoughts or feelings on the subject with us, either. So, he pretty much went from screaming and crying all the time to trying his hand at talking.
Button, on the other hand, is a talker--or she probably WILL be. For now, she's just a constant noise-making machine of nearly epic proportions. Finn--Gabe's preordained BFF--is like this too. He will start making noise, for no apparent reason sometimes, and he won't stop until he's found a good enough distraction or he runs out of steam. It's really quite impressive, and not a little annoying. It's like he's giving a speech to the masses, but there are no masses and he's usually not using any words that anyone other than he understands (on more than one occasion we've compared him to the Jodie Foster movie character Nel because it seems like he's invented his own language).
Last night, Libby and I sat down to watch the new Star Trek movie about forty-five minutes before Gabe went to bed. Gabe will let us watch our shows from time to time, but he doesn't like it, and he often makes his discontent known by doing everything he possible can at a loud volume, which he started to do. Then, out of nowhere, Button chimed in. She started bellowing and groaning--as you'll get a taste of in the video. Between the two of them, we couldn't hear a thing from the movie, so we had to stop the movie. Already they are conspiring against us doing anything that doesn't directly entertain them. Kids.
Sadly, we didn't get any video of them both working their mojo last night, but I got a little video of Button doing her thing, sort of, this morning. She was really going good until I got the camera in there, then the flashing light from the camera distracted her and she didn't really work up a full head of steam again while I had it running. But you get the idea.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Using His Powers for Good
For, well, as long as I can remember, I've been trying to focus Gabe's seemingly boundless energy into service for the powers of good. He's a smart kid, and that coupled with a short attention span makes him a prime candidate for many less than savory outcomes in life. I'm not talking ADD or ADHD, which are, of course, still options, I'm talking about super villainry or some other nefarious outlet.
Think about it. What do all super villains have in common? They are super intelligent, singularly determined, and they spend their time coming up with one plan after another to destroy whatever it is they are bent on destroying only to be thwarted because their plan wasn't foolproofed well enough (that sounds like an attention problem if ever I've heard of one). And WHY do they turn to a life of crime? Because they had bad parents, that's why.
Or maybe they're sociopaths. Whatever.
All I know is I don't want news crews beating on my door thirty years from now asking questions like, "Why didn't you do more when he was young to distract him away from the wiles of a life of crime? Why didn't you focus his energies towards the cause of good?" So I've been working with him.
Specifically, I've been trying to get him to entertain the baby.
Now, I KNOW there are those out there thinking, "But, Pat, you're not doing that to deter him from a life of crime, you're doing that because you want some help keeping your infant distracted!" To you I say, "Pah!" And I don't really have any further follow-up after that. It is, after all, a pretty damn good argument you've made based on sound observation. Jerk.
But the other day, my Good Guy Training began to pay off as Gabe spent a solid ten minutes playing with the baby's toys, mostly for her benefit. Button, for her part, LOVED it.
Unfortunately, this isn't the best video of him playing his Yo Gabba Gabba guitar. He was really jamming, up to the point where I got the camera, then he jus continued half-heartedly for a bit. I do like that he's working on his stage antics already, though, by using the furniture to his advantage. Then, of course, he moves on to the drums, which are probably the ideal instrument for him, unfortunately. Drummers don't get the chicks, guitar players do. Ask Phil Collins.
Think about it. What do all super villains have in common? They are super intelligent, singularly determined, and they spend their time coming up with one plan after another to destroy whatever it is they are bent on destroying only to be thwarted because their plan wasn't foolproofed well enough (that sounds like an attention problem if ever I've heard of one). And WHY do they turn to a life of crime? Because they had bad parents, that's why.
Or maybe they're sociopaths. Whatever.
All I know is I don't want news crews beating on my door thirty years from now asking questions like, "Why didn't you do more when he was young to distract him away from the wiles of a life of crime? Why didn't you focus his energies towards the cause of good?" So I've been working with him.
Specifically, I've been trying to get him to entertain the baby.
Now, I KNOW there are those out there thinking, "But, Pat, you're not doing that to deter him from a life of crime, you're doing that because you want some help keeping your infant distracted!" To you I say, "Pah!" And I don't really have any further follow-up after that. It is, after all, a pretty damn good argument you've made based on sound observation. Jerk.
But the other day, my Good Guy Training began to pay off as Gabe spent a solid ten minutes playing with the baby's toys, mostly for her benefit. Button, for her part, LOVED it.
As a backup plan, I've also been training Gabe to be a rock star. I know this isn't a very GOOD backup plan, since, in many ways, rock stars are very much like super villains--in mentality, megalomaniacal tendencies, and short-sightedness, specifically. But, the way I see it, at least it's a happy medium. Rock stars might not be fighters for truth and justice, but at least they don't have to worry about Batman spraying Shark Repellent in their faces or Spiderman webbing them up in a ball to be hung for the police to find from a street lamp.
So far, I think he's leaning a bit more towards the rock star option, but it's still probably too early to tell.
So far, I think he's leaning a bit more towards the rock star option, but it's still probably too early to tell.
Unfortunately, this isn't the best video of him playing his Yo Gabba Gabba guitar. He was really jamming, up to the point where I got the camera, then he jus continued half-heartedly for a bit. I do like that he's working on his stage antics already, though, by using the furniture to his advantage. Then, of course, he moves on to the drums, which are probably the ideal instrument for him, unfortunately. Drummers don't get the chicks, guitar players do. Ask Phil Collins.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Solid Food Is for Winners! And the Dumb Donald Babies Torment the Cat
Messy, messy winners.
Our battle with solids is slowly starting to ebb. Butts still doesn't particularly LIKE to eat her food, but we've at least started to move past the stage where everything that goes into her mouth comes immediately out again at high velocity.
For weeks, every time we've coaxed her to open her mouth long enough for us to sneak food in, she's quickly closed her mouth around the spoon and pushed everything right back out again, usually with an amusing "yucky" face. We would persist to feed her about half a container of food--which took no less than twenty minutes--then give up and call it a day.
Now, however, she's gotten to the point where we can feed her an entire container of 1st stage food and at least 2/3 of it goes into her stomach. The rest, of course, goes EVERYWHERE else. She's especially fond of rubbing her face with her sleeve and then rubbing her sleeve on whoever is feeding her. Or sticking her hand in her mouth while it's full of food then flinging her hand around her head like an interpretive dancer. It's all very exciting.
Button during her epic battle with a small tub of carrots.
And a quick video of the altercation.
Growing up, I was no fan of the show. I WATCHED it, of course, because I watched pretty much everything that was available to me--which, because we never had cable, was not very much. The show itself never bothered me--it might, in fact, have been amusing to me at the time. What bothered me was the similarities between the main character's name and my own. It was a very short trip indeed between "Hey, hey, hey! It's Faaaaaat Albert!" and "Hey, hey, hey! It's Paaaaaat Albers!"
Oddly enough, nobody but me ever made this connection until I was a freshman in high school and Fat Albert was little more than a blip on everyone's cultural relevance radar. The first person to make the connection was a senior. I can't remember, exactly, who the guy was, but I do remember that he wasn't what one would be tempted to call an "astute observer of the human condition." And because, by that point, I wasn't a fat kid anymore, the connection quickly faded into the background and, really, nobody ever made the reference again, except maybe in passing.
In grade school, though, I was a chubby kid. My jeans always had elastic waistbands and, more often than not, were of the Husky brand. That is, by the by, one of the WORST, unflattering brand names ever. It's almost as bad as having a women's clothing store named Dress Barn. Anyway, somehow, none of my childhood tormentors ever made the connection between my name and the name of Billy Cosby's famous, morbidly obese cartoon character. And, for that, I'm ever thankful.
I wonder what ever happened to Fat Albert. I wonder if the Diabetes ever claimed his feet. Poor guy. I bet he's a shut-in now and that's why we never hear anything about him. They'll probably have to tear off his roof and pull him out with a crane when he dies--or burn the house down around him Gilbert Grape style. Sad.
But because of my familiarity with the show, I am among the few people who know that it was NOT Mushmouth who wore his stocking cap over his face. It was Dumb Donald. Here's proof. Is the distinction important? Almost certainly. At least it is to someone like me who is a stickler for the accuracy of obscure cultural references.
Our battle with solids is slowly starting to ebb. Butts still doesn't particularly LIKE to eat her food, but we've at least started to move past the stage where everything that goes into her mouth comes immediately out again at high velocity.
For weeks, every time we've coaxed her to open her mouth long enough for us to sneak food in, she's quickly closed her mouth around the spoon and pushed everything right back out again, usually with an amusing "yucky" face. We would persist to feed her about half a container of food--which took no less than twenty minutes--then give up and call it a day.
Now, however, she's gotten to the point where we can feed her an entire container of 1st stage food and at least 2/3 of it goes into her stomach. The rest, of course, goes EVERYWHERE else. She's especially fond of rubbing her face with her sleeve and then rubbing her sleeve on whoever is feeding her. Or sticking her hand in her mouth while it's full of food then flinging her hand around her head like an interpretive dancer. It's all very exciting.
Button during her epic battle with a small tub of carrots.And a quick video of the altercation.
In Gabe-related news, Finn came over Saturday evening and the pair discovered the fun of robbing their sense of sight and running around.
Obviously, because they had stocking caps pulled over their faces, various Fat Albert references were made.
Growing up, I was no fan of the show. I WATCHED it, of course, because I watched pretty much everything that was available to me--which, because we never had cable, was not very much. The show itself never bothered me--it might, in fact, have been amusing to me at the time. What bothered me was the similarities between the main character's name and my own. It was a very short trip indeed between "Hey, hey, hey! It's Faaaaaat Albert!" and "Hey, hey, hey! It's Paaaaaat Albers!"
Oddly enough, nobody but me ever made this connection until I was a freshman in high school and Fat Albert was little more than a blip on everyone's cultural relevance radar. The first person to make the connection was a senior. I can't remember, exactly, who the guy was, but I do remember that he wasn't what one would be tempted to call an "astute observer of the human condition." And because, by that point, I wasn't a fat kid anymore, the connection quickly faded into the background and, really, nobody ever made the reference again, except maybe in passing.
In grade school, though, I was a chubby kid. My jeans always had elastic waistbands and, more often than not, were of the Husky brand. That is, by the by, one of the WORST, unflattering brand names ever. It's almost as bad as having a women's clothing store named Dress Barn. Anyway, somehow, none of my childhood tormentors ever made the connection between my name and the name of Billy Cosby's famous, morbidly obese cartoon character. And, for that, I'm ever thankful.
I wonder what ever happened to Fat Albert. I wonder if the Diabetes ever claimed his feet. Poor guy. I bet he's a shut-in now and that's why we never hear anything about him. They'll probably have to tear off his roof and pull him out with a crane when he dies--or burn the house down around him Gilbert Grape style. Sad.
But because of my familiarity with the show, I am among the few people who know that it was NOT Mushmouth who wore his stocking cap over his face. It was Dumb Donald. Here's proof. Is the distinction important? Almost certainly. At least it is to someone like me who is a stickler for the accuracy of obscure cultural references.
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Ugly Months
It's been a little while since I've had a good Button update, so here goes.
First, no, I don't mean SHE'S ugly--she's still cute as a button. Big as a garbage scow, but cute as a button.
We were finally able to pull the box out from under her feet and leave out the blanket "stuffing" around her belly, which means she's actually big enough to be in this contraption we've been putting her in for a good month or two now!
First, no, I don't mean SHE'S ugly--she's still cute as a button. Big as a garbage scow, but cute as a button.
We were finally able to pull the box out from under her feet and leave out the blanket "stuffing" around her belly, which means she's actually big enough to be in this contraption we've been putting her in for a good month or two now!No, I'm referencing the ugly period in a baby's development when nothing is right for them. Now, I'm not one to make a habit of posing generalizations--ALL generalizations are stupid--but, since we've had two kids now, and both kids have exhibited this behavior, I have to consider this the norm. There will, of course, be exceptions to the rule, but there always are.
And maybe calling it "ugly" isn't quite fair either. What I mean is "The months when you will have to give your child your undivided attention or he/she will be a whining, crying, unhappy child." I suspect this mood is brought on by the fact that the babies are learning to do things but are frustrated because they can't do what they WANT to do. What that might be is a complete mystery to me because NOTHING you help them do will make them happy for very long.
The bottom line is that the kid will either be attached to you or unhappy. I had hoped that it was just Gabe and most babies could be trusted to go about their business more or less quietly off in some corner of the living room. That, apparently, isn't the case. Gabe was needy from the get-go, and he really didn't get out of his Ugly Months until he could walk and very nearly talk. So, more like an Ugly Year and a Half.
Butts' Ugly Months started about a month ago, but they are REALLY kicking into high gear these last few weeks. I've developed a little rotation of activities to try and keep her occupied. Sadly, some of them can't be done when Gabe is awake, which only makes matters worse. For her, at least.
We start in her activity saucer where I hand her a half dozen or so toys to fumble around with. She will maul these toys about a bit, throw them into the air--usually hitting herself and making her cry--pick them up again, then throw them on the floor. I can repeat this process once, maybe twice before she is bored with her toys and moves on to the next most interesting thing to her, self-abuse. If left to her own devices without a shiny to latch onto, she will grab her ears or her hair and pull like there is no tomorrow. When we grab her hands to try and prise them free, she pulls even harder. She is, of course, crying the entire time and gives US a look like we're the ones causing the pain. Or she'll bite her fingers--though it's generally much easier to pull her fingers out of her mouth to stop her doing that.
After the saucer, we move to the floor on a blanket. We start on her back, but she doesn't usually stay there for very long. She's a very accomplished roller by this point. But she doesn't know what to DO when she gets over on her belly--she still hasn't figured out getting back onto her back and she isn't even trying to crawl or anything. I will flip her back over and the process will repeat. After the third time on her belly, she hates it and she'll start trying to eat the blanket underneath her face.
So we move to the couch where I sit her up in the corner and let her sit like a big girl for a little bit. Usually I put a crunchy baby book in her lap so she has something to grab onto. This is good for about five minutes or until she decides that she wants to start kicking around. Kicking around leads to either her sliding down the corner of the couch or leaning forward, where she'll tip forward and try to face plant on the floor.
Keep in mind, these are the "on her own" places she visits. Between each step there is usually a period where she sits on my lap or I carry her around until she gets too bored and squirmy.
Anyway, then we move to her little floor gym or her bouncy chair--or sometimes both. These were her mainstays just a few short months ago, but she's just about had as much of them as she can handle, so neither one of them offers her much distraction for more than a few minutes, tops. The bouncy chair is nice, though, because it's the only thing we have that I can sit her in if we go out to the backyard. Sadly, we can almost never do that because it's ALWAYS windy, and about five minutes is all she can take of the wind.
So, hand her a toy, flip, carry, repeat. And this will carry on until she can crawl, which, god willing, will be SOON. For Gabe it was a new exploration of freedom. For Norah, it's tough to say what it's going to be--we can hardly let her pad around on the floor with Gabe running all over the top of her. Probably it will be a new exploration of her play pen--or the Play Penitentiary, as I like to call it.
Obviously, I'm rooting for her to be, developmentally, at the 18 month stage before Christmas.
And maybe calling it "ugly" isn't quite fair either. What I mean is "The months when you will have to give your child your undivided attention or he/she will be a whining, crying, unhappy child." I suspect this mood is brought on by the fact that the babies are learning to do things but are frustrated because they can't do what they WANT to do. What that might be is a complete mystery to me because NOTHING you help them do will make them happy for very long.
The bottom line is that the kid will either be attached to you or unhappy. I had hoped that it was just Gabe and most babies could be trusted to go about their business more or less quietly off in some corner of the living room. That, apparently, isn't the case. Gabe was needy from the get-go, and he really didn't get out of his Ugly Months until he could walk and very nearly talk. So, more like an Ugly Year and a Half.
Butts' Ugly Months started about a month ago, but they are REALLY kicking into high gear these last few weeks. I've developed a little rotation of activities to try and keep her occupied. Sadly, some of them can't be done when Gabe is awake, which only makes matters worse. For her, at least.
We start in her activity saucer where I hand her a half dozen or so toys to fumble around with. She will maul these toys about a bit, throw them into the air--usually hitting herself and making her cry--pick them up again, then throw them on the floor. I can repeat this process once, maybe twice before she is bored with her toys and moves on to the next most interesting thing to her, self-abuse. If left to her own devices without a shiny to latch onto, she will grab her ears or her hair and pull like there is no tomorrow. When we grab her hands to try and prise them free, she pulls even harder. She is, of course, crying the entire time and gives US a look like we're the ones causing the pain. Or she'll bite her fingers--though it's generally much easier to pull her fingers out of her mouth to stop her doing that.
After the saucer, we move to the floor on a blanket. We start on her back, but she doesn't usually stay there for very long. She's a very accomplished roller by this point. But she doesn't know what to DO when she gets over on her belly--she still hasn't figured out getting back onto her back and she isn't even trying to crawl or anything. I will flip her back over and the process will repeat. After the third time on her belly, she hates it and she'll start trying to eat the blanket underneath her face.
So we move to the couch where I sit her up in the corner and let her sit like a big girl for a little bit. Usually I put a crunchy baby book in her lap so she has something to grab onto. This is good for about five minutes or until she decides that she wants to start kicking around. Kicking around leads to either her sliding down the corner of the couch or leaning forward, where she'll tip forward and try to face plant on the floor.
Keep in mind, these are the "on her own" places she visits. Between each step there is usually a period where she sits on my lap or I carry her around until she gets too bored and squirmy.
Anyway, then we move to her little floor gym or her bouncy chair--or sometimes both. These were her mainstays just a few short months ago, but she's just about had as much of them as she can handle, so neither one of them offers her much distraction for more than a few minutes, tops. The bouncy chair is nice, though, because it's the only thing we have that I can sit her in if we go out to the backyard. Sadly, we can almost never do that because it's ALWAYS windy, and about five minutes is all she can take of the wind.
So, hand her a toy, flip, carry, repeat. And this will carry on until she can crawl, which, god willing, will be SOON. For Gabe it was a new exploration of freedom. For Norah, it's tough to say what it's going to be--we can hardly let her pad around on the floor with Gabe running all over the top of her. Probably it will be a new exploration of her play pen--or the Play Penitentiary, as I like to call it.
Obviously, I'm rooting for her to be, developmentally, at the 18 month stage before Christmas.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Gabe Discovers Electricity
A few months back--I honestly can't remember how long ago at this point, but probably early summer or so--my Mom gave me a bug vacuum. She bought it because it was an "As Seen on TV" product. I love me some TV products! She knows this and, every chance she gets, she picks them up for me and gives them to me on my birthday or Christmas--or, sometimes, out of the blue, as with this gift.
Now, don't misunderstand me here, I don't love EVERYTHING that's advertised "As Seen on TV." Popular or possibly useful items, like, say, the Snuggie--though I am most certainly NOT suggesting it is useful, it is an abomination of ridiculousness--will never have a home in my house (the one notable except is Oxyclean, which I've found to be a quite useful cleaning supply--and it's been used to remove red wine, cat shit, cat puke, and grape juice from our carpets and dozens of various stains from our clothes--and the popularizing of which is surely the late Billie Mays greatest legacy). No. I'm only interested in the crazy crap that was "seen on TV" only be terminal insomniacs or lovers of the assorted home shopping channels during their down times. Silly, bizarre, and utterly, ponderously useless, that's what I'm interested in.
I have no great love of OWNING these items, of course, because they are, as a rule, useless beyond measure--unless their sole purpose for existing is to take up space, in which case they are resounding successes. Nonetheless, Mom buys them for me and, after I marvel at their inherent oddness, they usually take up residence on the bookshelves in my office until the next time I do some cleaning and they are either given to a thrift store or, if I feel too guilty saddling them with something they will never sell, I just bypass the middle man and toss it in the trash.
The bug vacuum, however, did not get the chance to live on my shelf because Gabe was there when I opened it and he fell instantly in love with it.
The concept is simple: a weak, nearly non-existent vacuum is built into a handle, which is then attached to a clear plastic tube about eighteen inches long. It looks rather like a toy lightsaber, only shorter. The driving principle behind this vacuum is to offer the consumer an alternative that is both sanitary AND humane. Not only do you not squish the invading bug, leaving a mess to clean up, you don't even kill it! You suck it up in the tube and leave the vacuum running while you go to the door and return the little bugger to the nature whence it came.
Side Note: this is the CORRECT usage of "whence." "Whence" means: "from what place, what source, what origin, etc." Thus, when people say "from whence," what they are saying is "from from what place," a redundancy. Yet, EVERYBODY says "from whence." What is happening is people are using it as a replacement for the word "where," possibly so they can sound intelligenter than they usually do. But you don't, fool! If you're going archaic, at least know how to use it properly!
Anyway, bug vacuum. Great fun for Gabe when the flies were infesting our house and yard back in July and August. He very nearly wore out the batteries on the thing he used it so much.
Or, battery, rather. One 9V battery, to be exact. And it was this battery that Gabe discovered how to remove from the handle the other day. And it was this battery that he used to discover electricity this afternoon when he touched both nodes to his tongue.
WHY he did this, I'm not sure. I have used this method to test a 9V in the past, but probably not for a dozen years or more. Now I have a much more sophisticated method--I try to run whatever the battery is supposed to be energizing, and if it doesn't work, I throw out the old battery and replace it with a new one. Test complete and no numb tongue. So, he's never seen me do it before. I suspect he just did it because putting things in his mouth to prove their existence is still one of his favorite things to do, and he just got lucky that he put the business end into his mouth.
The look on his face was priceless, and I wish I could have captured it. He was both surprised and intrigued at the same time, and he continued to put the battery to his tongue for almost a minute after the first try.
So I got the camera. Of course, by the time I got the thing up and running, he was done. I DID manage to catch the last time he put it in his mouth, but only just. It's the first few seconds of the video. The rest of it, I kept hoping he'd put it back in (and even encouraged him a little--don't worry, the battery is so dead he isn't feeling but the slightest tingle, I know because I tried it myself later, just to make sure), but he never did. Instead he moved on to doing other Gaberific things with the battery and the bug vacuum. Enjoy.
Now, don't misunderstand me here, I don't love EVERYTHING that's advertised "As Seen on TV." Popular or possibly useful items, like, say, the Snuggie--though I am most certainly NOT suggesting it is useful, it is an abomination of ridiculousness--will never have a home in my house (the one notable except is Oxyclean, which I've found to be a quite useful cleaning supply--and it's been used to remove red wine, cat shit, cat puke, and grape juice from our carpets and dozens of various stains from our clothes--and the popularizing of which is surely the late Billie Mays greatest legacy). No. I'm only interested in the crazy crap that was "seen on TV" only be terminal insomniacs or lovers of the assorted home shopping channels during their down times. Silly, bizarre, and utterly, ponderously useless, that's what I'm interested in.
I have no great love of OWNING these items, of course, because they are, as a rule, useless beyond measure--unless their sole purpose for existing is to take up space, in which case they are resounding successes. Nonetheless, Mom buys them for me and, after I marvel at their inherent oddness, they usually take up residence on the bookshelves in my office until the next time I do some cleaning and they are either given to a thrift store or, if I feel too guilty saddling them with something they will never sell, I just bypass the middle man and toss it in the trash.
The bug vacuum, however, did not get the chance to live on my shelf because Gabe was there when I opened it and he fell instantly in love with it.
The concept is simple: a weak, nearly non-existent vacuum is built into a handle, which is then attached to a clear plastic tube about eighteen inches long. It looks rather like a toy lightsaber, only shorter. The driving principle behind this vacuum is to offer the consumer an alternative that is both sanitary AND humane. Not only do you not squish the invading bug, leaving a mess to clean up, you don't even kill it! You suck it up in the tube and leave the vacuum running while you go to the door and return the little bugger to the nature whence it came.
Side Note: this is the CORRECT usage of "whence." "Whence" means: "from what place, what source, what origin, etc." Thus, when people say "from whence," what they are saying is "from from what place," a redundancy. Yet, EVERYBODY says "from whence." What is happening is people are using it as a replacement for the word "where," possibly so they can sound intelligenter than they usually do. But you don't, fool! If you're going archaic, at least know how to use it properly!
Anyway, bug vacuum. Great fun for Gabe when the flies were infesting our house and yard back in July and August. He very nearly wore out the batteries on the thing he used it so much.
Or, battery, rather. One 9V battery, to be exact. And it was this battery that Gabe discovered how to remove from the handle the other day. And it was this battery that he used to discover electricity this afternoon when he touched both nodes to his tongue.
WHY he did this, I'm not sure. I have used this method to test a 9V in the past, but probably not for a dozen years or more. Now I have a much more sophisticated method--I try to run whatever the battery is supposed to be energizing, and if it doesn't work, I throw out the old battery and replace it with a new one. Test complete and no numb tongue. So, he's never seen me do it before. I suspect he just did it because putting things in his mouth to prove their existence is still one of his favorite things to do, and he just got lucky that he put the business end into his mouth.
The look on his face was priceless, and I wish I could have captured it. He was both surprised and intrigued at the same time, and he continued to put the battery to his tongue for almost a minute after the first try.
So I got the camera. Of course, by the time I got the thing up and running, he was done. I DID manage to catch the last time he put it in his mouth, but only just. It's the first few seconds of the video. The rest of it, I kept hoping he'd put it back in (and even encouraged him a little--don't worry, the battery is so dead he isn't feeling but the slightest tingle, I know because I tried it myself later, just to make sure), but he never did. Instead he moved on to doing other Gaberific things with the battery and the bug vacuum. Enjoy.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Ending on a High Note--A Shrill, Piercing, Shrieking, Every Hour and a Half High Note
There was bound to be a correction: a yang to the previous night's yin. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
The night before last went about as well as I could have hoped. In an attempt to reduce Button's feedings from three back down to two, I took her up a bottle when I went to bed at 10:00. It worked better than I expected it would. She woke up once at 2:00 then didn't wake up again until 6:00--and Gabe was getting up then anyway, so I can't count that as a through-the-night feeding. As such, I actually got a decent night of sleep (well, about five hours, but that was about as much as I could expect to get).
But, then, she was a turd most of yesterday. She only took one nap halfway through the day for about an hour and a half, then she refused to take her normal, mood stabilizing hour-long nap in the late afternoon. Subsequently, from about 4:00 until she went to sleep for the night, she was an inconsolable mess. I hoped this would mean she'd sleep better through the night, since she was obviously tired already.
It didn't. Instead, she woke up every hour and a half, on the dot, starting at midnight. And this despite me feeding her a 10:00 bottle when I went up to bed.
In other words, Libby can't get home soon enough.
The night before last went about as well as I could have hoped. In an attempt to reduce Button's feedings from three back down to two, I took her up a bottle when I went to bed at 10:00. It worked better than I expected it would. She woke up once at 2:00 then didn't wake up again until 6:00--and Gabe was getting up then anyway, so I can't count that as a through-the-night feeding. As such, I actually got a decent night of sleep (well, about five hours, but that was about as much as I could expect to get).
But, then, she was a turd most of yesterday. She only took one nap halfway through the day for about an hour and a half, then she refused to take her normal, mood stabilizing hour-long nap in the late afternoon. Subsequently, from about 4:00 until she went to sleep for the night, she was an inconsolable mess. I hoped this would mean she'd sleep better through the night, since she was obviously tired already.
It didn't. Instead, she woke up every hour and a half, on the dot, starting at midnight. And this despite me feeding her a 10:00 bottle when I went up to bed.
In other words, Libby can't get home soon enough.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Gabe's First Lie
It was only a matter of time. I knew this day was coming sooner rather than later. As often as he does things he gets in trouble for, I figured it wouldn't be long before Gabe started to master the art of lying. And he took his first, awkward step forward today.
Because I'm a sucker who doesn't learn lessons any better than my son does, I let Gabe get his markers out a little while ago. I sat down with him at the table for a few minutes and reviewed the guidelines: "Markers stay on the table. Markers only mark on paper. Markers are not food. Gabe's face and hands do NOT look better in six different colors." I gave him some paper and set him loose.
Oh, and I came up with another, BETTER justification for leaving him unsupervised while he does these things that will inevitably lead to messes--because he'll never learn responsibility or independence if I'm hovering over him, correcting his every move. That sounds like a real reason, right? I might have pulled that right out of Dr. Spock's ass for all I know. And now it's the excuse I'm going to stick with.
Anyway, he markered up the paper quickly enough, and took to other activities with the markers. He started by putting them all together to build a "magic wand." That was a new concept as far as I was concerned. I'm not sure where he came up with that one. Dorah, maybe. Or maybe it was from our latest shared viewing of the Dungeons and Dragons movie (best. movie. ever.--with Jeremy Irons and a Wayans in it, anyway). At one point, he was on the floor playing with them and I went into the dining room, picked up the markers, put them all back on the table, and reminded him of the rules.
Then I got distracted by emails for no more than five minutes. Mind you, I could sort of see him out of the corner of my eye the entire time since my office desk is right next to the dining room door, but somehow I didn't manage to catch him, once again, drawing on the wood floor.
"All right!" I said in my best authoritative voice--which, because I sound a little like Kermit the Frog, isn't really all that authoritative to anyone but Gabe, and only to him because he hasn't heard that many REAL authoritative voices in his life to compare mine to--"No more markers! And no markers TOMORROW either!" I declared.
He walked into the living room as if to say, "Whatever, old man." I started to gather up the markers, but most of the caps were mysteriously missing. "Gabe, come in here and help me find the caps so we can put these markers away." By this point, his attention was focused solely on Dorah, so I had to repeat my demand. Three times. Finally he turned and wandered non-committally into the dining room. He walked over to the gate that blocks the stairs and pointed over it. "Caps," he said, and he walked back into the living room. I picked up those caps, matched them up with the markers, and we were still two short.
I called him back into the dining room and asked him, again, where the caps were. I showed him the colors he was looking for.
"Mail truck," he said.
"What about the mail truck?" I had no idea what he was talking about. This was the first I'd heard anything about a mail truck all day from him.
"Caps in mail truck," he claimed.
"Really?" I said. "How did they get in there?"
"Caps in mail truck," he repeated, following the Fox News method of journalism where, if you say something over and over enough times, it becomes "truth."
"Cookie Monster pieces in mail truck!" he added, as if this somehow explained everything. Again, no idea where that one came from. We haven't had his Sesame Street character puzzle things out in a few days.
I spied the caps on the floor under one of the chairs behind the table. I pointed them out to him. He went around and picked them up and handed them to me.
"See, they weren't in the mail truck, were they?" I corrected.
"Caps in mail truck," he said with finality and he went back into the living room. And I have to give it to him, at least he didn't cave under the pressure or give in under the crushing weight of my evidence. The kid might have a future in broadcasting or politics some day.
Because I'm a sucker who doesn't learn lessons any better than my son does, I let Gabe get his markers out a little while ago. I sat down with him at the table for a few minutes and reviewed the guidelines: "Markers stay on the table. Markers only mark on paper. Markers are not food. Gabe's face and hands do NOT look better in six different colors." I gave him some paper and set him loose.
Oh, and I came up with another, BETTER justification for leaving him unsupervised while he does these things that will inevitably lead to messes--because he'll never learn responsibility or independence if I'm hovering over him, correcting his every move. That sounds like a real reason, right? I might have pulled that right out of Dr. Spock's ass for all I know. And now it's the excuse I'm going to stick with.
Anyway, he markered up the paper quickly enough, and took to other activities with the markers. He started by putting them all together to build a "magic wand." That was a new concept as far as I was concerned. I'm not sure where he came up with that one. Dorah, maybe. Or maybe it was from our latest shared viewing of the Dungeons and Dragons movie (best. movie. ever.--with Jeremy Irons and a Wayans in it, anyway). At one point, he was on the floor playing with them and I went into the dining room, picked up the markers, put them all back on the table, and reminded him of the rules.
Then I got distracted by emails for no more than five minutes. Mind you, I could sort of see him out of the corner of my eye the entire time since my office desk is right next to the dining room door, but somehow I didn't manage to catch him, once again, drawing on the wood floor.
"All right!" I said in my best authoritative voice--which, because I sound a little like Kermit the Frog, isn't really all that authoritative to anyone but Gabe, and only to him because he hasn't heard that many REAL authoritative voices in his life to compare mine to--"No more markers! And no markers TOMORROW either!" I declared.
He walked into the living room as if to say, "Whatever, old man." I started to gather up the markers, but most of the caps were mysteriously missing. "Gabe, come in here and help me find the caps so we can put these markers away." By this point, his attention was focused solely on Dorah, so I had to repeat my demand. Three times. Finally he turned and wandered non-committally into the dining room. He walked over to the gate that blocks the stairs and pointed over it. "Caps," he said, and he walked back into the living room. I picked up those caps, matched them up with the markers, and we were still two short.
I called him back into the dining room and asked him, again, where the caps were. I showed him the colors he was looking for.
"Mail truck," he said.
"What about the mail truck?" I had no idea what he was talking about. This was the first I'd heard anything about a mail truck all day from him.
"Caps in mail truck," he claimed.
"Really?" I said. "How did they get in there?"
"Caps in mail truck," he repeated, following the Fox News method of journalism where, if you say something over and over enough times, it becomes "truth."
"Cookie Monster pieces in mail truck!" he added, as if this somehow explained everything. Again, no idea where that one came from. We haven't had his Sesame Street character puzzle things out in a few days.
I spied the caps on the floor under one of the chairs behind the table. I pointed them out to him. He went around and picked them up and handed them to me.
"See, they weren't in the mail truck, were they?" I corrected.
"Caps in mail truck," he said with finality and he went back into the living room. And I have to give it to him, at least he didn't cave under the pressure or give in under the crushing weight of my evidence. The kid might have a future in broadcasting or politics some day.
Mama Home. Yay! (Mama Gone. Boo!)
So, Libby drifted through our lives last night, and left this morning, like a merchant marine on a brief shore leave (only with none of the boozing and lechery and far more of the going to bed early and sleeping--so, maybe like a seventy year old merchant marine on shore leave).
As the first four days of Libby's hiatus from home passed, Gabe's joyful bursts of "Mama home, yay!" grew somewhat more frequent but decidedly less hopeful and exuberant as he came to expect the inevitably level explanation from me that "Mama isn't home, but she will be soon" to thwart his every expectation. By yesterday, he was repeating his mantra on an hourly basis, and I dutifully counted down the hours for him until Libby would return. Then, surprisingly, when she DID get home from work, he blew it all off pretty nonchalantly and his only utterance for her was "Fingerpainting?"
I am mostly to blame for this--though Gabe's uncannily good toddler memory could also have a finger pointed at it.
Round about 2:00 yesterday afternoon, Gabe insisted that it was time to fingerpaint again. "Not a chance," I informed him. "I already told you we were done with art for the day." And as far as I was concerned, we were. Shortly before nap time yesterday morning, Gabe had taken up marker and paper and decided to create yet another masterpiece of modern scribble art. Then, within about ten minutes, he decided that the paper was a limiting and disappointing canvas, so he took his art to the streets. Or, more specifically, to the wood floor in the dining room. He scribbled and markered like there was no tomorrow, using all seven colors at his disposal, to completely deface our floor.
Now, I'm sure there are those out there pointing admonishing fingers and wagging them tellingly at me. "What did you expect?" they ask. "You can't leave a toddler unsupervised with art supplies! Surely you've learned that lesson time and again--or at least you SHOULD have since you've documented Gabe's art adventures quite thoroughly on this page numerous times." To which, I would say, "Get stuffed."
If there is one thing that Gabe and I share, it is a short attention span for things that don't really interest us. And, frankly, toddler art doesn't really interest me that much at this point. Currently, he plays with either his markers or his crayons two or three times a day. He KNOWS he's not supposed to do certain things with them, and, even though I suspect he probably will do those things nonetheless, since he doesn't about 75% of the time, I just can't muster the energy to stay 100% focused on his activities every time he goes for his art supplies. Yes, it is a failing as a parent, but for the sake of my sanity, it is a necessary one. And a pretty minor one. It's not like I'm leaving him alone with a paring knife and the cats. Plus the markers are washable, so he really can't do any damage that a wet cloth can't fix.
Admittedly, this time I had another excuse beyond simple disinterest. I was also making lunch. But saying I had a legitimate excuse outright wouldn't have been nearly as interesting.
Anyway, the first time he asked for the fingerpaints, I said, "Nope, sucka. You lay that sass on your mama when she gets home," only I probably said it with slightly less slang. And, even though he only asked one more time to remind himself of my suggestion to ask Libby when she got home, he somehow managed to remember it.
It kind of sucks that he's getting old enough to remember these sorts of things. Gone are the days of the empty promise, I suppose. Now when I say, "We can go to the park after your nap," I'm going to have to expect to follow through on that promise or pay the consequences. Damn you, brain development, for keeping me true to my word!
While fingerpainting, Gabe did do something new and interesting, though, so I better share that. He took his art to the next level and created facepainting. No, not painting his face. He's done that plenty of times before. He discovered painting WITH his face. After applying generous amounts of paint to his face, he put it to paper.
The first time he did it was the best. Libby and I watched him as he spread his paints on his face then slowly, with purpose, he lowered his face onto a piece of paper. It caught us so off guard that we exploded with laughter, then, of course, I got out the camera. His next application of paint wasn't nearly as good as the first, but you get the idea.
My favorite part of this video is that, the first two times he goes to put his face down on the paper, Libby looks as though she's going to smack his face down to get a good print. It reminds me of grade school. We used to play a game called "Guess Who?" The rules were simple. You smacked someone on the head and said "Guess who?" It could be the front or the back, but it was most fun when you smacked someone who was reading an assignment on the back of the head, which made them smack the front of their head on the book. Then you got a twofer! Probably not the most sophisticated grade school game ever, but it certainly might be a contributing factor towards the lower than average level of academic excellence in the place where I grew up (this isn't just me slandering my redneck roots, either. Here's a telling example. I was my class' salutatorian. And I graduated with a 3.5 gpa. Yeah. I think our valedictorian had about a 3.75. No battle between 4.0 students in MY class. We'll stick to our head smacking, thank you very much!).
As the first four days of Libby's hiatus from home passed, Gabe's joyful bursts of "Mama home, yay!" grew somewhat more frequent but decidedly less hopeful and exuberant as he came to expect the inevitably level explanation from me that "Mama isn't home, but she will be soon" to thwart his every expectation. By yesterday, he was repeating his mantra on an hourly basis, and I dutifully counted down the hours for him until Libby would return. Then, surprisingly, when she DID get home from work, he blew it all off pretty nonchalantly and his only utterance for her was "Fingerpainting?"
I am mostly to blame for this--though Gabe's uncannily good toddler memory could also have a finger pointed at it.
Round about 2:00 yesterday afternoon, Gabe insisted that it was time to fingerpaint again. "Not a chance," I informed him. "I already told you we were done with art for the day." And as far as I was concerned, we were. Shortly before nap time yesterday morning, Gabe had taken up marker and paper and decided to create yet another masterpiece of modern scribble art. Then, within about ten minutes, he decided that the paper was a limiting and disappointing canvas, so he took his art to the streets. Or, more specifically, to the wood floor in the dining room. He scribbled and markered like there was no tomorrow, using all seven colors at his disposal, to completely deface our floor.
Now, I'm sure there are those out there pointing admonishing fingers and wagging them tellingly at me. "What did you expect?" they ask. "You can't leave a toddler unsupervised with art supplies! Surely you've learned that lesson time and again--or at least you SHOULD have since you've documented Gabe's art adventures quite thoroughly on this page numerous times." To which, I would say, "Get stuffed."
If there is one thing that Gabe and I share, it is a short attention span for things that don't really interest us. And, frankly, toddler art doesn't really interest me that much at this point. Currently, he plays with either his markers or his crayons two or three times a day. He KNOWS he's not supposed to do certain things with them, and, even though I suspect he probably will do those things nonetheless, since he doesn't about 75% of the time, I just can't muster the energy to stay 100% focused on his activities every time he goes for his art supplies. Yes, it is a failing as a parent, but for the sake of my sanity, it is a necessary one. And a pretty minor one. It's not like I'm leaving him alone with a paring knife and the cats. Plus the markers are washable, so he really can't do any damage that a wet cloth can't fix.
Admittedly, this time I had another excuse beyond simple disinterest. I was also making lunch. But saying I had a legitimate excuse outright wouldn't have been nearly as interesting.
Anyway, the first time he asked for the fingerpaints, I said, "Nope, sucka. You lay that sass on your mama when she gets home," only I probably said it with slightly less slang. And, even though he only asked one more time to remind himself of my suggestion to ask Libby when she got home, he somehow managed to remember it.
It kind of sucks that he's getting old enough to remember these sorts of things. Gone are the days of the empty promise, I suppose. Now when I say, "We can go to the park after your nap," I'm going to have to expect to follow through on that promise or pay the consequences. Damn you, brain development, for keeping me true to my word!
While fingerpainting, Gabe did do something new and interesting, though, so I better share that. He took his art to the next level and created facepainting. No, not painting his face. He's done that plenty of times before. He discovered painting WITH his face. After applying generous amounts of paint to his face, he put it to paper.
The first time he did it was the best. Libby and I watched him as he spread his paints on his face then slowly, with purpose, he lowered his face onto a piece of paper. It caught us so off guard that we exploded with laughter, then, of course, I got out the camera. His next application of paint wasn't nearly as good as the first, but you get the idea.
My favorite part of this video is that, the first two times he goes to put his face down on the paper, Libby looks as though she's going to smack his face down to get a good print. It reminds me of grade school. We used to play a game called "Guess Who?" The rules were simple. You smacked someone on the head and said "Guess who?" It could be the front or the back, but it was most fun when you smacked someone who was reading an assignment on the back of the head, which made them smack the front of their head on the book. Then you got a twofer! Probably not the most sophisticated grade school game ever, but it certainly might be a contributing factor towards the lower than average level of academic excellence in the place where I grew up (this isn't just me slandering my redneck roots, either. Here's a telling example. I was my class' salutatorian. And I graduated with a 3.5 gpa. Yeah. I think our valedictorian had about a 3.75. No battle between 4.0 students in MY class. We'll stick to our head smacking, thank you very much!).
But now Libby is attending a work conference until Saturday night, so we're pretty much back at square one, except that NOW Gabe has had a taste of Mama being home. So we'll see how that pans out tonight when she doesn't come home from work like normal again.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The Bush Administration's Nefarious Plan Comes to Fruition
Dear Ex-President Bush the junior,
You win this round, W. Well played.
Oh, don't be coy. We both know this was one of the most well-orchestrated and brilliant plans ever conceived by man. I'm not one given to flights of conspiracy theory fancy, but there's just no denying the evidence this time. My only question is, how did you know? I mean, I know the US government is in control of some very sophisticated technologies, but accurately predicting the future? I had no idea!
How could you possibly have know, for SURE, that Libby would be going away this week, the week following the NEW ending date for Daylight Saving Time that your administration implemented in 2007? I mean, what if she'd waited until next semester? What if we still only had one kid? How could you account for all of those variables to pull off such a dazzling win?
I know, I know. There's no point in asking. You're nothing if not evasive and secretive about such things. And I can settle for the solace of knowing that I'm important enough in the eyes of my government that steps were taken, two years in advance, simply to rob me of sleep during this one week of the year. It gives me a warm feeling, really. If only I had enough sleep this week, I could have carried out my diabolical plan to . . . well, its best if I don't share that information since another opportunity might still present itself.
If only a negative manifestation of the change in bed times hadn't happened with BOTH kids in the same night. Button needing three feedings instead of her normal two these last two nights has been inconvenient, but Gabe sleeping until past 6:00 the night before last made the first night tolerable. Making sure Gabe woke up at 4:00 this morning, though, that was a stroke of genius on your part.
Nobody ever gave you enough credit for your intelligence. A "C" average at an ivy league school is pretty good, really! I might not have been able to pull that off (naw, I'm just being polite, I'm pretty sure I could have done at least that well, especially if my family was important enough for my teachers to view giving me good grades as essential to their continued, problem-free employment).
But how did you do it (not your GPA, I'm pretty sure I know exactly how you did that, I'm back on the topic of my two year old)? Did you use some sort of low level sonic device that disrupted his sleep and then left him too restless to even consider going back to sleep again? Or was it telepathy? Can we harness the power of the mind now? How exciting! I just wish you'd chosen to test it on someone else's kid.
Well, however you do it, I'd really appreciate it if you knocked it off tonight. Four hours of sleep spread over a seven hour period simply isn't going to cut it. In exchange for your discontinued meddling, I promise that I won't do anything large scale for, let's say, another year. I'll just keep dinking around with the lives in the Wichita metropolitan area. Deal? Great! I can't wait to see what you came up with to deal with me a year from now!
Regards,
Patrick Albers
You win this round, W. Well played.
Oh, don't be coy. We both know this was one of the most well-orchestrated and brilliant plans ever conceived by man. I'm not one given to flights of conspiracy theory fancy, but there's just no denying the evidence this time. My only question is, how did you know? I mean, I know the US government is in control of some very sophisticated technologies, but accurately predicting the future? I had no idea!
How could you possibly have know, for SURE, that Libby would be going away this week, the week following the NEW ending date for Daylight Saving Time that your administration implemented in 2007? I mean, what if she'd waited until next semester? What if we still only had one kid? How could you account for all of those variables to pull off such a dazzling win?
I know, I know. There's no point in asking. You're nothing if not evasive and secretive about such things. And I can settle for the solace of knowing that I'm important enough in the eyes of my government that steps were taken, two years in advance, simply to rob me of sleep during this one week of the year. It gives me a warm feeling, really. If only I had enough sleep this week, I could have carried out my diabolical plan to . . . well, its best if I don't share that information since another opportunity might still present itself.
If only a negative manifestation of the change in bed times hadn't happened with BOTH kids in the same night. Button needing three feedings instead of her normal two these last two nights has been inconvenient, but Gabe sleeping until past 6:00 the night before last made the first night tolerable. Making sure Gabe woke up at 4:00 this morning, though, that was a stroke of genius on your part.
Nobody ever gave you enough credit for your intelligence. A "C" average at an ivy league school is pretty good, really! I might not have been able to pull that off (naw, I'm just being polite, I'm pretty sure I could have done at least that well, especially if my family was important enough for my teachers to view giving me good grades as essential to their continued, problem-free employment).
But how did you do it (not your GPA, I'm pretty sure I know exactly how you did that, I'm back on the topic of my two year old)? Did you use some sort of low level sonic device that disrupted his sleep and then left him too restless to even consider going back to sleep again? Or was it telepathy? Can we harness the power of the mind now? How exciting! I just wish you'd chosen to test it on someone else's kid.
Well, however you do it, I'd really appreciate it if you knocked it off tonight. Four hours of sleep spread over a seven hour period simply isn't going to cut it. In exchange for your discontinued meddling, I promise that I won't do anything large scale for, let's say, another year. I'll just keep dinking around with the lives in the Wichita metropolitan area. Deal? Great! I can't wait to see what you came up with to deal with me a year from now!
Regards,
Patrick Albers
Monday, November 2, 2009
Update on Libby and the Button Firsts She's Missed While Away
I'm sure nobody is checking this blog to find out how Libby's day went, but I'll post it anyway. She called about 6:00 and said that everything went fine. She passed, after about three hours of head-aching academia. Hurray! So, that's out of the way. She's not a "master" yet because she's still got a class to finish this semester and then another, final class, in the spring, but this was the most stressful element that needed to be completed. And now it's done.
Unfortunately, while she's been gone, there has been a flurry of developments with the smallest one. Moments that, sadly, Libby will never be able to get back because she was gone educating herself.
The first happened late this afternoon. Gabe asked if he could take the car out to Sonic to meet some friends (oh, yeah, Gabe can drive now, too--they grow up so fast), so it was just Button and I here at the house. She was lying on her little fleece blanket on the living room floor and I was watching my "stories" (about one hundred hours of language education programming that I recorded off the university channel some time back--I'm presently working my way through Esperanto). Then, quite unexpectedly, she rolled over onto her stomach, propped herself up, then stood, all on her own! While I sat, gawping in open shock, she proceeded to take her first steps over to my chair! It was truly the most remarkable thing I've ever seen.
Then, about an hour later (Gabe was up in his room with some sleazy little something something that he picked up at Sonic, and lord only knows what they were doing up there--probably playing with his puzzles! The shame), I had Button in her little activity saucer. I had moved on to my OTHER stories (interpretive dance routines that I had recorded off the Arts channel before they canceled it forever a few years back--and the world has never been the same for me since), and finally, after a few minutes, Button gave up on subtly trying to pry my attention away from my show and opted to peg me in the head with a half frozen teething toy. I looked down on her and she had that stern look on her face that will, someday, burrow into the very souls of her own children, and she spoke her first words!
She said, "Daddy, I want you to know that I love YOU best because you wouldn't leave us for a week to pursue higher education."
To which I replied, "You will never have to worry about me being gone for something like THAT. Education is for losers. But, you should know, if I ever had the opportunity to go somewhere else for an entire week, I'd jump at the opportunity to leave the house. Nothing personal."
She considered this gravely for a few moments, but then her face lit up as she came to a conclusion. "I can't blame you, father of mine. Kids can be a handful. All we ever do is take, take, take. I know that some day we'll be able to return the favor because you plan to use up your body in such a way that the last decade or so of your life will require someone to keep constant watch over you, but that's such a dreadfully long ways away. In the here and now, you are saying that you would enjoy a week of peace and relative quiet. I can respect that."
"Thanks, Butts," I said. "You're aces."
"It's only because of your caring, patient tutelage, dearest daddy. Without you, all would be for nought."
She went on from there with a five minute soliloquy about how wonderful I was. To be honest, it got a bit trite at times--lots of references to "light" and "summer" and "hope" and whatnot. But, then, she's only five months old, so I can cut her a little slack. She hasn't been around enough to know what is and isn't a cliche. I was pretty impressed at how well-rehearsed it sounded, though. I guess she's been putting her time alone in her crib to good use. Good for her!
Now if I could just figure out a way to get Gabe's trampy play date to leave.
Unfortunately, while she's been gone, there has been a flurry of developments with the smallest one. Moments that, sadly, Libby will never be able to get back because she was gone educating herself.
The first happened late this afternoon. Gabe asked if he could take the car out to Sonic to meet some friends (oh, yeah, Gabe can drive now, too--they grow up so fast), so it was just Button and I here at the house. She was lying on her little fleece blanket on the living room floor and I was watching my "stories" (about one hundred hours of language education programming that I recorded off the university channel some time back--I'm presently working my way through Esperanto). Then, quite unexpectedly, she rolled over onto her stomach, propped herself up, then stood, all on her own! While I sat, gawping in open shock, she proceeded to take her first steps over to my chair! It was truly the most remarkable thing I've ever seen.
Then, about an hour later (Gabe was up in his room with some sleazy little something something that he picked up at Sonic, and lord only knows what they were doing up there--probably playing with his puzzles! The shame), I had Button in her little activity saucer. I had moved on to my OTHER stories (interpretive dance routines that I had recorded off the Arts channel before they canceled it forever a few years back--and the world has never been the same for me since), and finally, after a few minutes, Button gave up on subtly trying to pry my attention away from my show and opted to peg me in the head with a half frozen teething toy. I looked down on her and she had that stern look on her face that will, someday, burrow into the very souls of her own children, and she spoke her first words!
She said, "Daddy, I want you to know that I love YOU best because you wouldn't leave us for a week to pursue higher education."
To which I replied, "You will never have to worry about me being gone for something like THAT. Education is for losers. But, you should know, if I ever had the opportunity to go somewhere else for an entire week, I'd jump at the opportunity to leave the house. Nothing personal."
She considered this gravely for a few moments, but then her face lit up as she came to a conclusion. "I can't blame you, father of mine. Kids can be a handful. All we ever do is take, take, take. I know that some day we'll be able to return the favor because you plan to use up your body in such a way that the last decade or so of your life will require someone to keep constant watch over you, but that's such a dreadfully long ways away. In the here and now, you are saying that you would enjoy a week of peace and relative quiet. I can respect that."
"Thanks, Butts," I said. "You're aces."
"It's only because of your caring, patient tutelage, dearest daddy. Without you, all would be for nought."
She went on from there with a five minute soliloquy about how wonderful I was. To be honest, it got a bit trite at times--lots of references to "light" and "summer" and "hope" and whatnot. But, then, she's only five months old, so I can cut her a little slack. She hasn't been around enough to know what is and isn't a cliche. I was pretty impressed at how well-rehearsed it sounded, though. I guess she's been putting her time alone in her crib to good use. Good for her!
Now if I could just figure out a way to get Gabe's trampy play date to leave.
Day One (and a Half)
Libby has been gone for just under 36 hours now. I REALLY wanted to take some progression pictures--with one the morning she left then one for each day to illustrate how I'm feeling--but I opted not to. I mean, what about me would really look THAT different? I might get some slightly darker bags under my eyes, or they might be a little bloodshot, but that's about it. That's the problem with being well on my way to bald, I can't let my increasingly disheveled hair tell the story for me. Oh well.
And, actually, the picture of me for today wouldn't be very remarkable. So far, things have been going disinterestingly fine. Button woke up three times during the night, and I didn't get MUCH sleep, but since I went to bed at 8:30 last night, I managed to get just enough to keep me from going stupid(er). Very boring.
Gabe hasn't even had any major meltdowns yet. He keeps asking for "Mama" from time to time, or saying, "Hurray! Mama's home!" (which is what he says most nights when she gets home from work) every time he hears a car outside. Then, when I explain to him that, in fact, Mama ISN'T home, and won't be for another two days, he furrows his brow at me as if to say, "Idiot," then walks over to the dining room window, opens the shade, points out the window and says, "Mama's car" (the Echo). Then I remind him that Mama took the van and the car has been out there all along. He gives me a mildly annoyed look and then we go about our business.
It might be possible that he'll deal with this week in an admirable fashion. I certainly wouldn't mind if things played out that way (though this blog will get even more boring more quickly than usual). I think the major meltdown will happen if he wakes up in the middle of the night and Libby isn't there to pull him out of bed to "snuzzle" for awhile. I tend to be more of the "Go back to sleep, goddammit!" attitude. So, then things might get a little messy. We'll just have to wait and see.
As for Libby, she called me about two hours ago as she was prepping to go in to give her presentation (which was supposed to happen at 3:00--it's almost 3:00 now, but her phone has been off for awhile now, so I'm wondering if she got in a little early. I'm sure she'll do fine. And, hopefully, when it's done, she'll BE fine, too.
On an unrelated note, I fully expect Gabe to have Type II diabetes by the end of the week. Or I will. Honestly, who invented the concept of trick-or-treating? It's all I can do to ration his candy intake to a piece every hour or two. And the only other alternative is for ME to eat it, and that's not a very good idea either. All day I have to listen to the whining, begging, "Treat, please!" over and over again. At least he's saying please, I suppose.
And, actually, the picture of me for today wouldn't be very remarkable. So far, things have been going disinterestingly fine. Button woke up three times during the night, and I didn't get MUCH sleep, but since I went to bed at 8:30 last night, I managed to get just enough to keep me from going stupid(er). Very boring.
Gabe hasn't even had any major meltdowns yet. He keeps asking for "Mama" from time to time, or saying, "Hurray! Mama's home!" (which is what he says most nights when she gets home from work) every time he hears a car outside. Then, when I explain to him that, in fact, Mama ISN'T home, and won't be for another two days, he furrows his brow at me as if to say, "Idiot," then walks over to the dining room window, opens the shade, points out the window and says, "Mama's car" (the Echo). Then I remind him that Mama took the van and the car has been out there all along. He gives me a mildly annoyed look and then we go about our business.
It might be possible that he'll deal with this week in an admirable fashion. I certainly wouldn't mind if things played out that way (though this blog will get even more boring more quickly than usual). I think the major meltdown will happen if he wakes up in the middle of the night and Libby isn't there to pull him out of bed to "snuzzle" for awhile. I tend to be more of the "Go back to sleep, goddammit!" attitude. So, then things might get a little messy. We'll just have to wait and see.
As for Libby, she called me about two hours ago as she was prepping to go in to give her presentation (which was supposed to happen at 3:00--it's almost 3:00 now, but her phone has been off for awhile now, so I'm wondering if she got in a little early. I'm sure she'll do fine. And, hopefully, when it's done, she'll BE fine, too.
On an unrelated note, I fully expect Gabe to have Type II diabetes by the end of the week. Or I will. Honestly, who invented the concept of trick-or-treating? It's all I can do to ration his candy intake to a piece every hour or two. And the only other alternative is for ME to eat it, and that's not a very good idea either. All day I have to listen to the whining, begging, "Treat, please!" over and over again. At least he's saying please, I suppose.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Halloween and Libby's Departure
As most of you are I'm sure aware, yesterday was Halloween. To celebrate, we spent the day in Cunningham with my folks and a number of the locals joining in the city's day-long celebration.
Now, don't take this personally. I'm sure your kids are great. EVERYONE'S kids are great. But there's something I've been thinking a lot about lately. I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I don't think your kids and I should see each other anymore. Maybe it's time that your kids started being around other adults. No, no. It's not their fault. It's MY fault. They deserve better than me. So I think it's best that we just keep our distance from here on out. We can still be friends, sure, but let's be friends from far away.
Break ups are always so messy.
It's no secret that I'm not a "people person." I like the idea of people. And I like studying people. I have a pretty good, innate grasp on how the human brain works, and I've always had a curiosity about how human nature plays out in everyday life. But I've never been much for hanging around with people that I don't know and who don't know me. I'm one of nature's voyeurs, I guess. There's all that pretense and awkwardness and carefully considering what's been said and what's going to be said when personal interaction occurs with casual acquaintances. Yes, yes, I know. There doesn't NEED to be all that stuff, but that's the way my brain works, so social interactions are rarely a natural, fluid thing for me, and, frankly, I don't need the extra hassle right now.
But for all the not being a people person there is going on in my life, I think there's even more of me not being an "other people's kids person." I also like the idea of kids, maybe even more than I like the idea of adults. I think kids are adorable. They say and do funny things. They're cute. But they're just so . . . there, EVERYWHERE, and all at the same time. They get in my personal space and they expect me to interact with them. I appreciate your interest. Really. But no thanks. Go wipe your boogers on someone else.
Now, before anyone progresses into full-on chastisement mode, I'm fully willing to admit that my attitudes towards other people are unhealthy, unproductive, and really not something that I want to pass on to my children. Don't get me wrong. I would love to see them both develop into self-aware, introverted people. The world needs more introverts. Sure, the extroverts might be the ones to get things done, but, for the most part, they get things done wrong. It's always do, do, do with them and never think, think, think--and while action has it's place, without the benefit of reflection and planning, that action usually takes on a circular motion, which is just as unhelpful, possibly MORE, than doing nothing at all.
So it it is with the understanding that I want my children to grow up thoughtful, but interested in being around other people, that I willfully participate in activities like yesterday's events.
And the day went fine. Exhausting, as I hovered around Gabe to make sure he wasn't beating up anyone else's kids (or trying to tell everyone on the playground equipment to "go away" or "stop"--as he did because he felt sure that the equipment should belong to him and him alone) or pestering some unsuspecting adult, but fine.
The Costume Parade. We were under the impression that this was going to be some sort of actual parade--that, perhaps, the kids would march up main street for a block or two while people lined the road to watch. Instead, they marched around the community center then, for some reason, went out the door, walked to a nearby "park" (a gazebo in an empty lot), and then returned to the community center. Nobody but the kids and a few adults taking pictures were outside, though.
Now, don't take this personally. I'm sure your kids are great. EVERYONE'S kids are great. But there's something I've been thinking a lot about lately. I'm not going to beat around the bush here. I don't think your kids and I should see each other anymore. Maybe it's time that your kids started being around other adults. No, no. It's not their fault. It's MY fault. They deserve better than me. So I think it's best that we just keep our distance from here on out. We can still be friends, sure, but let's be friends from far away.
Break ups are always so messy.
It's no secret that I'm not a "people person." I like the idea of people. And I like studying people. I have a pretty good, innate grasp on how the human brain works, and I've always had a curiosity about how human nature plays out in everyday life. But I've never been much for hanging around with people that I don't know and who don't know me. I'm one of nature's voyeurs, I guess. There's all that pretense and awkwardness and carefully considering what's been said and what's going to be said when personal interaction occurs with casual acquaintances. Yes, yes, I know. There doesn't NEED to be all that stuff, but that's the way my brain works, so social interactions are rarely a natural, fluid thing for me, and, frankly, I don't need the extra hassle right now.
But for all the not being a people person there is going on in my life, I think there's even more of me not being an "other people's kids person." I also like the idea of kids, maybe even more than I like the idea of adults. I think kids are adorable. They say and do funny things. They're cute. But they're just so . . . there, EVERYWHERE, and all at the same time. They get in my personal space and they expect me to interact with them. I appreciate your interest. Really. But no thanks. Go wipe your boogers on someone else.
Now, before anyone progresses into full-on chastisement mode, I'm fully willing to admit that my attitudes towards other people are unhealthy, unproductive, and really not something that I want to pass on to my children. Don't get me wrong. I would love to see them both develop into self-aware, introverted people. The world needs more introverts. Sure, the extroverts might be the ones to get things done, but, for the most part, they get things done wrong. It's always do, do, do with them and never think, think, think--and while action has it's place, without the benefit of reflection and planning, that action usually takes on a circular motion, which is just as unhelpful, possibly MORE, than doing nothing at all.
So it it is with the understanding that I want my children to grow up thoughtful, but interested in being around other people, that I willfully participate in activities like yesterday's events.
And the day went fine. Exhausting, as I hovered around Gabe to make sure he wasn't beating up anyone else's kids (or trying to tell everyone on the playground equipment to "go away" or "stop"--as he did because he felt sure that the equipment should belong to him and him alone) or pestering some unsuspecting adult, but fine.
The Costume Parade. We were under the impression that this was going to be some sort of actual parade--that, perhaps, the kids would march up main street for a block or two while people lined the road to watch. Instead, they marched around the community center then, for some reason, went out the door, walked to a nearby "park" (a gazebo in an empty lot), and then returned to the community center. Nobody but the kids and a few adults taking pictures were outside, though.
Besides the parade, there were a half dozen or so other activities. There was a chili cookoff, a fair number of activities set up for the kids at the big park, a dog show (for some strange reason--not costumed dogs, mind you, just dogs), bingo, and a cake walk. We missed out on a fair chunk of the afternoon activities because Gabe melted down and needed a nap, but it was otherwise pretty OK. He had fun, at least.
As you've no doubt guessed from the video, Gabe went as a cowboy. After we got home from Cunningham--right about 6:00--we called the McHugheses and decided to walk around the neighborhood for a little trick-or-treating.
Cowboy Gabe. Sadly, the best picture that we got of his costume also includes his finger up his nose. But what can you do? That's Finn racing off camera to the side there. He's a dinosaur.
As you've no doubt guessed from the video, Gabe went as a cowboy. After we got home from Cunningham--right about 6:00--we called the McHugheses and decided to walk around the neighborhood for a little trick-or-treating.
Cowboy Gabe. Sadly, the best picture that we got of his costume also includes his finger up his nose. But what can you do? That's Finn racing off camera to the side there. He's a dinosaur.Trick-or-treating was about as much fun as I expected. We walked about six blocks and managed to find four houses with their lights on. Apparently, people don't do much with trick-or-treating anymore. Two of the houses were pretty creepy--and not because that was how they were decorated. I expect it will be a bit more fun when the kids are old enough to do most of it on their own. Since Gabe got tired of walking after about four blocks, I ended up carrying him, and, of course, he couldn't comprehend the concept of "one piece of candy per kid" and kept digging his hands into the candy bowls and trying to hastily shove as much food as possible into his pumpkin.
To me, trick-or-treating always feels like aggressive pan-handling for sweets. But maybe that's just me.
Then, this morning, Libby left for Taintlick, Texas, to defend her thesis tomorrow afternoon. She will be gone until Wednesday evening. Then she leaves again Thursday morning for a business trip and won't be home until Saturday night. It should prove to be a most interesting week. I'm curious how it will all play out.
She took Gabe aside a few times this morning and tried to explain to him that she was going to be gone for a few days. Not surprisingly, he paid no attention. I really don't expect there to be any troubles today. It is, after all, just like a normal day of work. And going to bed tonight won't be an issue either. Plenty of times Libby has had to work late and Gabe has gone to bed without seeing her.
Overnight tonight and tomorrow morning is when I expect the fireworks to begin. Libby has been gone overnight a few times, but I don't think Gabe actually remembers what it's like. And any time she's been gone for more than one night, we've taken Gabe out to my folks' house so the distraction of being and Nana and Poppa's has offset the tragedy of Mama not being around. As I said, interesting.
To me, trick-or-treating always feels like aggressive pan-handling for sweets. But maybe that's just me.
Then, this morning, Libby left for Taintlick, Texas, to defend her thesis tomorrow afternoon. She will be gone until Wednesday evening. Then she leaves again Thursday morning for a business trip and won't be home until Saturday night. It should prove to be a most interesting week. I'm curious how it will all play out.
She took Gabe aside a few times this morning and tried to explain to him that she was going to be gone for a few days. Not surprisingly, he paid no attention. I really don't expect there to be any troubles today. It is, after all, just like a normal day of work. And going to bed tonight won't be an issue either. Plenty of times Libby has had to work late and Gabe has gone to bed without seeing her.
Overnight tonight and tomorrow morning is when I expect the fireworks to begin. Libby has been gone overnight a few times, but I don't think Gabe actually remembers what it's like. And any time she's been gone for more than one night, we've taken Gabe out to my folks' house so the distraction of being and Nana and Poppa's has offset the tragedy of Mama not being around. As I said, interesting.
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