My witty husband posted on Facebook yesterday that it wasn't really Super Bowl Sunday here; it was more like Super Toilet Bowl Sunday.
That's because William, bless his heart, had the stomach flu. I guess it's a good thing we hadn't planned to invite any friends over to watch the game.
We should have known something was up when he turned down pizza at lunch. He asked for peach yogurt and then only ate a few bites. Seriously, that's like alarm bells going off, and neither David nor I picked up on it. I guess we're out of the habit.
There was a time, though, when I would have noticed right away. When he was about Andrew's age, there was this one day that William was starting to get sick. I called David at work in a panic. David knows that I rarely ever call him at work, so he almost always takes my calls. Cautiously he asked me what was wrong.
"William's sick!" I bellowed.
Calmly, David reassured me that he might be sick but he'd probably be fine. He sounded relieved that nothing appeared to be emergently wrong.
"No, you don't understand!" I shouted. "He won't EAT CHEESE!"
"Bring him RIGHT IN!" was David's panicked response.
But there we were yesterday, not even thinking anything about William handing off that slice of Cowboy Pizza to David. William turning down pizza. Yeah. That was so obvious that I am smacking myself in the head for not realizing it right away.
William's Sunday School teacher and my friend Kate emailed me today to let me know that he had briefly mentioned feeling sick during Sunday School yesterday morning. But nothing came of it at the time, and he'd already probably exposed everyone in the vicinity to whatever bug he was carrying.
I Lysol-ed the hell out of everything in the house, not including David and Andrew. I cleaned the fixtures in the bathroom and the toilet seat every time William went near them (which was often). When he wasn't actively being sick, William lay on the couch, still and wan. It would have broken your heart to see him. He usually idles at such a high speed, and he was so sick, it was like someone had flipped a switch and turned him off.
Anyway, William bounced back just fine. He about drove me nuts today. No, I told him, you can't have yogurt-covered raisins. Yes, you can watch "The Empire Strikes Back." No, you can't have yogurt. Yes, I will read the volcano book to you. And will you please stop hugging and kissing on your little brother?
Andrew, knock on wood, seems to be doing just fine. Did I mention that he has two teeth now and adores Ritz Crackers? William is now calling him Ritz Cracker. Yes, that's a compliment; William adores Ritz Crackers. And he ate about 100 today.
Monday, February 07, 2011
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Money changes everything
We are experimenting with giving William an allowance.
A couple of weeks ago, I gave William the penny that was left over when I paid $1.10 for the $1.09 large Diet Coke at McDonald's. I've been doing this for months now. Sometimes he squirrels the penny away in his pocket, sometimes he drops it somewhere in the minivan where it rolls around for awhile, and other times...well, I don't know where the pennies go. But at any rate, the other day, he said that he wanted to get dollars.
I thought about that for a minute. The parenting experts are always saying how great it is to give kids an allowance and teach them the value of money. I tried to remember how old the kids needed to be, ideally, but finally concluded that William was probably old enough to get a basic introduction.
"Okay," I told him. "I'll tell you what. You can earn dollars. How about that?"
And I thought fast. What could a four-year-old do to earn money? I mean, realistically speaking?
"If you make your bed every morning after you get up, and then you pick up all your toys in the family room every night before you take your bath, and you do all that for a week, you can earn a whole dollar," I concluded.
William enthusiastically agreed. He already knows how to make his bed, and he certainly knows how to pick up toys, even if he doesn't enjoy doing it.
So a day or so later, I made a very basic chart on a piece of construction paper, with three columns: one for the day, one for bed, one for toys. He is supposed to make a checkmark in the appropriate columns for each day. Of course, what I didn't stop to think about was the fact that, oh yeah, William can't read the days of the week yet. But luckily for me, he's motivated enough to either ask or to figure it out based on the first letter of the word.
(Side note: I think he'll be reading the days of the week before long anyway. He claims he can't read, but then I've caught him reading random words that I didn't even know he knew. Today at the zoo, he read the word "exit" on a sign that was located nowhere near an exit. And he read the word "recycle" posted above a recyle bin. Of course, last week, he also read the word "beer" on a Budweiser truck parked in a gas station parking lot that we passed on the way to school. I was torn between being proud and being a little bemused. I went with proud. You don't have to actually drink beer to be able to spell "beer," right? And NO, it's not like he's seeing David and me drink lots of beer at home. David and I almost never drink beer. Certainly never cheap domestic beer out of a can. Shudder. Um, I can explain the bottles of Sam Adams in the fridge, though...)
So tonight, he checked off the blank for the "toys" category for Saturday. He's made (legitimate) checkmarks in all of the "bed" blanks since Tuesday, and he's got checkmarks in most of the "toys" blanks, too. He's been really good about making his bed without being asked, but getting him to clean up his toys at night has taken a little more effort (read: maybe just a tiny little bit of yelling and threatening).
Still, overall, I'm really proud of him. I think I'm going to go ahead and give him his first dollar tomorrow--after he makes his bed, of course. I know that he missed a couple of the "toys" blanks earlier in the week, but it was his first week. I think he's getting on board, and I think that getting his first dollar will really motivate him to keep doing it.
I plan to let him just enjoy his first dollar or two. Then we'll start talking about saving part of his allowance each week. "They" (you know: the Parenting Experts) recommend that children be taught to save part of any money they receive. And I think that's a good idea. But in order to do that this time around, I'd have to dig up four quarters, and honey child, that just ain't happenin' tonight. I'm just feeling good that I actually have a real dollar bill that I can give to William tomorrow.
Maybe by the time Andrew's old enough for chores, I'll have gotten this whole enterprise all figured out. Luckily, that's aways off. Right now, I'm just trying to keep money away from Andrew so he doesn't eat it. And wow, I can't believe that William's getting an allowance. How crazy is that? It's like he's almost five or something...oh, wait...
(By the way, a special award to anyone who remembers which song I stole this blog post title from! You can have...the penny left over from my next fountain Diet Coke. William won't need it anymore.)
A couple of weeks ago, I gave William the penny that was left over when I paid $1.10 for the $1.09 large Diet Coke at McDonald's. I've been doing this for months now. Sometimes he squirrels the penny away in his pocket, sometimes he drops it somewhere in the minivan where it rolls around for awhile, and other times...well, I don't know where the pennies go. But at any rate, the other day, he said that he wanted to get dollars.
I thought about that for a minute. The parenting experts are always saying how great it is to give kids an allowance and teach them the value of money. I tried to remember how old the kids needed to be, ideally, but finally concluded that William was probably old enough to get a basic introduction.
"Okay," I told him. "I'll tell you what. You can earn dollars. How about that?"
And I thought fast. What could a four-year-old do to earn money? I mean, realistically speaking?
"If you make your bed every morning after you get up, and then you pick up all your toys in the family room every night before you take your bath, and you do all that for a week, you can earn a whole dollar," I concluded.
William enthusiastically agreed. He already knows how to make his bed, and he certainly knows how to pick up toys, even if he doesn't enjoy doing it.
So a day or so later, I made a very basic chart on a piece of construction paper, with three columns: one for the day, one for bed, one for toys. He is supposed to make a checkmark in the appropriate columns for each day. Of course, what I didn't stop to think about was the fact that, oh yeah, William can't read the days of the week yet. But luckily for me, he's motivated enough to either ask or to figure it out based on the first letter of the word.
(Side note: I think he'll be reading the days of the week before long anyway. He claims he can't read, but then I've caught him reading random words that I didn't even know he knew. Today at the zoo, he read the word "exit" on a sign that was located nowhere near an exit. And he read the word "recycle" posted above a recyle bin. Of course, last week, he also read the word "beer" on a Budweiser truck parked in a gas station parking lot that we passed on the way to school. I was torn between being proud and being a little bemused. I went with proud. You don't have to actually drink beer to be able to spell "beer," right? And NO, it's not like he's seeing David and me drink lots of beer at home. David and I almost never drink beer. Certainly never cheap domestic beer out of a can. Shudder. Um, I can explain the bottles of Sam Adams in the fridge, though...)
So tonight, he checked off the blank for the "toys" category for Saturday. He's made (legitimate) checkmarks in all of the "bed" blanks since Tuesday, and he's got checkmarks in most of the "toys" blanks, too. He's been really good about making his bed without being asked, but getting him to clean up his toys at night has taken a little more effort (read: maybe just a tiny little bit of yelling and threatening).
Still, overall, I'm really proud of him. I think I'm going to go ahead and give him his first dollar tomorrow--after he makes his bed, of course. I know that he missed a couple of the "toys" blanks earlier in the week, but it was his first week. I think he's getting on board, and I think that getting his first dollar will really motivate him to keep doing it.
I plan to let him just enjoy his first dollar or two. Then we'll start talking about saving part of his allowance each week. "They" (you know: the Parenting Experts) recommend that children be taught to save part of any money they receive. And I think that's a good idea. But in order to do that this time around, I'd have to dig up four quarters, and honey child, that just ain't happenin' tonight. I'm just feeling good that I actually have a real dollar bill that I can give to William tomorrow.
Maybe by the time Andrew's old enough for chores, I'll have gotten this whole enterprise all figured out. Luckily, that's aways off. Right now, I'm just trying to keep money away from Andrew so he doesn't eat it. And wow, I can't believe that William's getting an allowance. How crazy is that? It's like he's almost five or something...oh, wait...
(By the way, a special award to anyone who remembers which song I stole this blog post title from! You can have...the penny left over from my next fountain Diet Coke. William won't need it anymore.)
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Almost a snow day...but not quite
Here's how you know we've had a metric ton of snow this year...
Okay, let me ratchet down the hyperbole a bit. Here's how you know that Nashville has had an unusually high number of snow days this winter: I've stopped taking pictures every time there's any measurable snowfall.
We had a snow day last Friday. We almost had a snow day today (there's snow on the ground, but God heard my prayers and made sure the roads were clear and the preschool was open). We've had numerous other snow days recently, which I've mostly chronicled or mentioned here.
And yet this is the only picture I've taken in the last week or two:
I couldn't even work up the energy to dress William up and have him run out into the backyard for a few quick photos. He quite reasonably said that he preferred to stay inside where it was warm and where he wouldn't get wet.
I posted the following on my Facebook status last week: Here's how I know that Nashville is tired of snow. No one is even out playing in it, and yet it's a beautiful blue-skied (if extremely cold) day.
And sure enough, everyone in this little corner of the world pretty much stayed inside. We ventured out that afternoon to go to the YMCA so I could burn off some of my winter fat.
Last night, when the forecasts were all calling for as many as five inches of snow, everyone was posting woe-is-me updates on Facebook. My friends and fellow parents were hoping desperately for the schools to be open. Others were praying for the bad weather to just pass us by altogether. Well, we got the crummy weather, but at least my son's school was open today.
Listen to me, saying that snow is "crummy weather"! I never thought I'd do that. And I guess I don't really think it's that bad. As I told William today, I actually love the way a snow-covered world looks. I was delighting over the fine ridges of snow that cling to the tree branches this morning at the breakfast table. I love the way the snow is heaped on top of the sticker bushes out front.
I guess I'm just tired of the disrupted routine. We all seem to function better with a routine. Just like babies and children function better with clear boundaries and early bedtimes. One or two snow days are fun. Three is still okay. But you start getting more than that, and it just gets old.
So I'm just glad that today we got the pretty snow AND we got to stick to the routine (more or less).
Okay, let me ratchet down the hyperbole a bit. Here's how you know that Nashville has had an unusually high number of snow days this winter: I've stopped taking pictures every time there's any measurable snowfall.
We had a snow day last Friday. We almost had a snow day today (there's snow on the ground, but God heard my prayers and made sure the roads were clear and the preschool was open). We've had numerous other snow days recently, which I've mostly chronicled or mentioned here.
And yet this is the only picture I've taken in the last week or two:
I couldn't even work up the energy to dress William up and have him run out into the backyard for a few quick photos. He quite reasonably said that he preferred to stay inside where it was warm and where he wouldn't get wet.
I posted the following on my Facebook status last week: Here's how I know that Nashville is tired of snow. No one is even out playing in it, and yet it's a beautiful blue-skied (if extremely cold) day.
And sure enough, everyone in this little corner of the world pretty much stayed inside. We ventured out that afternoon to go to the YMCA so I could burn off some of my winter fat.
Last night, when the forecasts were all calling for as many as five inches of snow, everyone was posting woe-is-me updates on Facebook. My friends and fellow parents were hoping desperately for the schools to be open. Others were praying for the bad weather to just pass us by altogether. Well, we got the crummy weather, but at least my son's school was open today.
Listen to me, saying that snow is "crummy weather"! I never thought I'd do that. And I guess I don't really think it's that bad. As I told William today, I actually love the way a snow-covered world looks. I was delighting over the fine ridges of snow that cling to the tree branches this morning at the breakfast table. I love the way the snow is heaped on top of the sticker bushes out front.
I guess I'm just tired of the disrupted routine. We all seem to function better with a routine. Just like babies and children function better with clear boundaries and early bedtimes. One or two snow days are fun. Three is still okay. But you start getting more than that, and it just gets old.
So I'm just glad that today we got the pretty snow AND we got to stick to the routine (more or less).
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Snow Days? How About Snow Week?
We are on our third major snowfall of the season. We're almost blase about snow now. "Oh, look, it's snowing again," one of us might say, casually. Or might not because it's so unremarkable by now.
But this one was actually a significant event by Tennessee standards (meaning that we got significant accumulation...for Tennessee). We only got three or four inches at our house, I think, but some parts of the state got as much as a foot of snow. That's Serious Snow in the Volunteer State, kids.
Like every other school in Middle Tennessee, William's preschool was out on Monday and Tuesday. We just had a long Christmas vacation, and we spent a lot of time together inside. Then we got snow and spent...more time together inside. William likes to play in the snow the first day, but even then, he's not keen on staying out there for very long. And I can understand. It's cold out there. We don't really have the most appropriate clothing for snowy weather. And you get wet playing in the snow if you're out there for a long time in makeshift snow gear. It's all fun and games until you're cold and wet.
So we stayed inside for the most part. Thus the email from preschool saying that it would be open on Wednesday came as a welcome relief. We joyfully piled into the minivan, and I dropped him off at school. Woot! It did not come a moment too soon. Even if no one else had it, I know that I had cabin fever. It was nice to both 1) get out of the house and 2) get a short break from all the constant indoor togetherness.
Knowing that I might only get one good opportunity to get some William-in-Snow photos, though, I even got out in the snowy front yard in my pajamas, coat, and boots to snap a few quick pictures for your viewing pleasure on Monday.
Here are David and William, preparing to take a toboggan ride:
And here's William with his very first snowman!
Yeah, that's about the size of the snowmen that we build here in Tennessee, or in the South in general. I built a similarly-sized snowman in Birmingham, actually, in 1987 when we got about the same amount of snow.
Side note: We do have some neighbors here who were very ambitious and rolled up a large amount of the snow in their yards to build four-foot-tall snowmen, though. They're pretty impressive...or were, until some teenaged vandals (I'm guessing) took a late-night spin through the neighborhood and knocked down snowmen. The homeowners' association email list-serve is all aflutter over this.
So we enjoyed the snow, we enjoyed the snow days, and now I'm glad that we're back to our usual routine.
But I'll tell you. I'm really feeling for the parents with kids in the public schools; they're STILL out. Oy. I'm dreading next year when we have inclement weather and William's out of school for days on end. I read the school system's explanation of why they opt to cancel school on certain days, but I still think they're overreaching. I mean, yes, I understand that safety is of paramount concern, and certain roads are icy, and all that. I get it. But the school district only builds five snow days into its calendar per year, and they've already exceeded it by two days. Actually, perhaps that is what I should take issue with: the district not putting enough snow days on the calendar. I'm feeling an email coming on.
But this one was actually a significant event by Tennessee standards (meaning that we got significant accumulation...for Tennessee). We only got three or four inches at our house, I think, but some parts of the state got as much as a foot of snow. That's Serious Snow in the Volunteer State, kids.
Like every other school in Middle Tennessee, William's preschool was out on Monday and Tuesday. We just had a long Christmas vacation, and we spent a lot of time together inside. Then we got snow and spent...more time together inside. William likes to play in the snow the first day, but even then, he's not keen on staying out there for very long. And I can understand. It's cold out there. We don't really have the most appropriate clothing for snowy weather. And you get wet playing in the snow if you're out there for a long time in makeshift snow gear. It's all fun and games until you're cold and wet.
So we stayed inside for the most part. Thus the email from preschool saying that it would be open on Wednesday came as a welcome relief. We joyfully piled into the minivan, and I dropped him off at school. Woot! It did not come a moment too soon. Even if no one else had it, I know that I had cabin fever. It was nice to both 1) get out of the house and 2) get a short break from all the constant indoor togetherness.
Knowing that I might only get one good opportunity to get some William-in-Snow photos, though, I even got out in the snowy front yard in my pajamas, coat, and boots to snap a few quick pictures for your viewing pleasure on Monday.
Here are David and William, preparing to take a toboggan ride:
And here's William with his very first snowman!
Yeah, that's about the size of the snowmen that we build here in Tennessee, or in the South in general. I built a similarly-sized snowman in Birmingham, actually, in 1987 when we got about the same amount of snow.
Side note: We do have some neighbors here who were very ambitious and rolled up a large amount of the snow in their yards to build four-foot-tall snowmen, though. They're pretty impressive...or were, until some teenaged vandals (I'm guessing) took a late-night spin through the neighborhood and knocked down snowmen. The homeowners' association email list-serve is all aflutter over this.
So we enjoyed the snow, we enjoyed the snow days, and now I'm glad that we're back to our usual routine.
But I'll tell you. I'm really feeling for the parents with kids in the public schools; they're STILL out. Oy. I'm dreading next year when we have inclement weather and William's out of school for days on end. I read the school system's explanation of why they opt to cancel school on certain days, but I still think they're overreaching. I mean, yes, I understand that safety is of paramount concern, and certain roads are icy, and all that. I get it. But the school district only builds five snow days into its calendar per year, and they've already exceeded it by two days. Actually, perhaps that is what I should take issue with: the district not putting enough snow days on the calendar. I'm feeling an email coming on.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
All About Andrew, Aging
I feel like I don't record nearly enough of the little things that happen in Andrew's life for my own enjoyment later on. Most of my posts on this blog that first year of William's life were those sort of posts, and it's fun now to go back and reread them. A lot of those events are kind of a blur in my mind now, so it's nice to have a history all written out for me by a reliable source. (Heh.)
So this post is all about Andrew, who is growing up fast.
Case in point(s):
1. He has a tooth. His first tooth began poking up from his gum just after Christmas. Now it's there and making itself known. In related news, I don't know how I am going to make it to the one-year mark for breastfeeding. Draw your own conclusions there.
2. David lowered his crib mattress yesterday. The next time he has a new sleeping situation, it'll be a Big Boy Bed. Eep.
3. He's all about the Big People Food. Last week, I scrolled back through this blog to read what I was feeding William at about the same age. William was eating toast and crackers and diced fruit and chicken sticks and cheese and Cheerios, and all sorts of stuff. I felt terribly guilty that I've been holding out on Andrew. Was I unintentionally babying him because he is the baby? I don't know. Immediately I went to the pantry for supplies. I dumped part of a can of fruit cocktail on his highchair tray, and he went to town. He liked the Cheerios too. And the chicken sticks were a big hit.
4. He knows about the stairs. I just walked downstairs with an overflowing laundry basket. William was on the stairs singing down to his brother, who was on his hands and knees at the foot of the staircase. Except that his hands were not on the floor. They were on the stair, and he was rocking forward.
Oh my goodness, he's doing it again! Excuse me.
So this post is all about Andrew, who is growing up fast.
Case in point(s):
1. He has a tooth. His first tooth began poking up from his gum just after Christmas. Now it's there and making itself known. In related news, I don't know how I am going to make it to the one-year mark for breastfeeding. Draw your own conclusions there.
2. David lowered his crib mattress yesterday. The next time he has a new sleeping situation, it'll be a Big Boy Bed. Eep.
3. He's all about the Big People Food. Last week, I scrolled back through this blog to read what I was feeding William at about the same age. William was eating toast and crackers and diced fruit and chicken sticks and cheese and Cheerios, and all sorts of stuff. I felt terribly guilty that I've been holding out on Andrew. Was I unintentionally babying him because he is the baby? I don't know. Immediately I went to the pantry for supplies. I dumped part of a can of fruit cocktail on his highchair tray, and he went to town. He liked the Cheerios too. And the chicken sticks were a big hit.
4. He knows about the stairs. I just walked downstairs with an overflowing laundry basket. William was on the stairs singing down to his brother, who was on his hands and knees at the foot of the staircase. Except that his hands were not on the floor. They were on the stair, and he was rocking forward.
Oh my goodness, he's doing it again! Excuse me.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
The Lego Infestation
Have you ever had ants in your house?
When we lived in California, there were always a few times each year that we'd get a steady stream of ants from our patio into our kitchen. Some people claimed that the ants were coming in to seek water. Which, given the desert that we lived in, made sense, if it was true. But whatever the reason that we were inunudated, we had to deal with the problem. That usually required some spraying, some ant traps and some vigilance. Usually that took care of most of them, but we always seemed to miss a few stragglers. So annoying.
Well. We may not have the same trouble with ants here in Tennessee, but we do have another minor scourge that we can't seem to keep fully contained. That's right. I'm talking about Legoes. (Legos? Lego bricks? Whatever.)
I'm here to tell you that it is nearly impossible to contain a Lego outbreak. It is insidious.
Yesterday, I had to wrestle Andrew to get a Lego minifigure helmet out of his hand. He objected. Loudly. Last week, I had to fish a tiny Star Wars Lego lightsaber out of his mouth. And this is all after David and William did a full sweep through the house and picked up Legoes from the floor of every room in the house. (Seriously. They were in every room in the house, save for Andrew's room. And I wouldn't swear in court that it's entirely Lego-free either.) They piled Lego bricks in bags and bins and boxes. They put Lego creations on the tops of shelves and tables. They tried to keep all the new Christmas-stocking Lego toys contained to either William's room or the playroom.
But every time I started to think, "Okay. We've finally got all the Lego stuff put away out of Andrew's reach," then I'd stumble across a tiny little piece embedded in the carpet somewhere. Or tucked away in a basket of toys on the floor. Or hiding beneath the plastic dishes in the toy kitchen in the family room. Or hanging out behind a chair that Andrew can easily crawl under.
It is nearly impossible to eradicate Legoes from one's house, once you are infected...er, infested...er, overrun....er, inundated with them. The best I can do is to just keep my eyes open for them and try to get to them before Andrew does.
Also, I am thinking about getting out my DustBuster and vacuuming up any stragglers. No prisoners. Survival of the fittest, that's how I see this.
When we lived in California, there were always a few times each year that we'd get a steady stream of ants from our patio into our kitchen. Some people claimed that the ants were coming in to seek water. Which, given the desert that we lived in, made sense, if it was true. But whatever the reason that we were inunudated, we had to deal with the problem. That usually required some spraying, some ant traps and some vigilance. Usually that took care of most of them, but we always seemed to miss a few stragglers. So annoying.
Well. We may not have the same trouble with ants here in Tennessee, but we do have another minor scourge that we can't seem to keep fully contained. That's right. I'm talking about Legoes. (Legos? Lego bricks? Whatever.)
I'm here to tell you that it is nearly impossible to contain a Lego outbreak. It is insidious.
Yesterday, I had to wrestle Andrew to get a Lego minifigure helmet out of his hand. He objected. Loudly. Last week, I had to fish a tiny Star Wars Lego lightsaber out of his mouth. And this is all after David and William did a full sweep through the house and picked up Legoes from the floor of every room in the house. (Seriously. They were in every room in the house, save for Andrew's room. And I wouldn't swear in court that it's entirely Lego-free either.) They piled Lego bricks in bags and bins and boxes. They put Lego creations on the tops of shelves and tables. They tried to keep all the new Christmas-stocking Lego toys contained to either William's room or the playroom.
But every time I started to think, "Okay. We've finally got all the Lego stuff put away out of Andrew's reach," then I'd stumble across a tiny little piece embedded in the carpet somewhere. Or tucked away in a basket of toys on the floor. Or hiding beneath the plastic dishes in the toy kitchen in the family room. Or hanging out behind a chair that Andrew can easily crawl under.
It is nearly impossible to eradicate Legoes from one's house, once you are infected...er, infested...er, overrun....er, inundated with them. The best I can do is to just keep my eyes open for them and try to get to them before Andrew does.
Also, I am thinking about getting out my DustBuster and vacuuming up any stragglers. No prisoners. Survival of the fittest, that's how I see this.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Ringing in the new year
Happy 2011!
That is crazy, isn't it, that it's 2011 now. I remember being a kid and thinking that the Prince song "1999" seemed impossibly futuristic. And now, to Adult Me, 1999 seems like just a hazy memory. Which it is, more or less. Let's see, what was happening in 1999? Bill Clinton was president. I lived in Memphis. David and I started dating that summer; he was in med school. My parents lived in Columbus, Mississippi. I'd never heard of Google. There was no such thing as Facebook. My cell phone weighed about two pounds. I hadn't even gone to grad school yet.
In other words, there has been a lot of water that's gone under the bridge since then. Oceans of water.
I have to say, though, that I'm pretty comfortable with where my life is now. In 1999, I still didn't know where I was headed or how I was going to get there. I have a much better grasp of who I am now, and while I am not living some great glamorous life, I'm really okay with that. I'm happy with my life. Not to say that there aren't some things that I want to work on...taking better care of the house, trying to make sure I raise the boys right, and nurturing my writing career, to name a few...but I'm glad that I am where I am.
Also, I'm extremely glad that it's January 2011, and not January 2010. This time last year, my family was still reeling from the recent breast cancer diagnosis that my mother had received. She had begun treatment, and we were all anxious about that. David was still regaining his health after having battled a serious case of H1N1 flu and a secondary case of pneumonia. I was heavily pregnant and uncomfortable as all get out, not to mention nauseated with horrible neuropathy in my hands and feet. To make matters much worse, my father-in-law was diagnosed with a brain tumor in late January 2010; he began treatment later in the winter, and our whole family was on tenterhooks for months. Then there was that whole broken ankle thing, which wasn't life-threatening but it was just a giant pain in the neck...er, well, you know what I mean. I think I can speak for the whole family in saying that we are all very, very, very glad to put 2010 (and the last three or four months of 2009, too) behind us. Far behind us.
Pretty much, Andrew's birth was the lone bright spot in a very long, bleak period.
But oh, what a bright spot he was. And still is!
So I welcomed 2011. I'm too superstitious to say that it has to be a better year than 2010 was, because 2010 was very rough, coming on the heels of a rough 2009. But I am still glad that we are ushering in a new year,ushering in this new year.
To my minor dismay, I did not get any iconic images of either of the boys this New Year's.
Longtime readers might remember this picture from New Year's Eve 2006:
That, of course, was William, at eight months. He was just delicious then, wasn't he? He had fallen asleep in the living room. He played hard and then he crashed.
At ten months, Andrew is far more mobile than William was at eight months. It's hard to get him to sit still for a picture, let alone get him to fall asleep in some adorable pose so I can snap a photo. But I did at least get a picture of him wearing the same pajamas:
As for that sweet baby in the first picture, well, this is what he was up to on New Year's Eve this year:
Those are the 3-D glasses that he wore to a screening of the new cartoon movie "Tangled" on Monday. That was an interesting experience, incidentally, but you'll have to mosey on over to www.parentworld.com and read my blog there to read it. In the meantime, suffice it to say that we're lucky that he didn't get to see all of "Tron" after all.
Hope that your new year is getting off to a good start.
That is crazy, isn't it, that it's 2011 now. I remember being a kid and thinking that the Prince song "1999" seemed impossibly futuristic. And now, to Adult Me, 1999 seems like just a hazy memory. Which it is, more or less. Let's see, what was happening in 1999? Bill Clinton was president. I lived in Memphis. David and I started dating that summer; he was in med school. My parents lived in Columbus, Mississippi. I'd never heard of Google. There was no such thing as Facebook. My cell phone weighed about two pounds. I hadn't even gone to grad school yet.
In other words, there has been a lot of water that's gone under the bridge since then. Oceans of water.
I have to say, though, that I'm pretty comfortable with where my life is now. In 1999, I still didn't know where I was headed or how I was going to get there. I have a much better grasp of who I am now, and while I am not living some great glamorous life, I'm really okay with that. I'm happy with my life. Not to say that there aren't some things that I want to work on...taking better care of the house, trying to make sure I raise the boys right, and nurturing my writing career, to name a few...but I'm glad that I am where I am.
Also, I'm extremely glad that it's January 2011, and not January 2010. This time last year, my family was still reeling from the recent breast cancer diagnosis that my mother had received. She had begun treatment, and we were all anxious about that. David was still regaining his health after having battled a serious case of H1N1 flu and a secondary case of pneumonia. I was heavily pregnant and uncomfortable as all get out, not to mention nauseated with horrible neuropathy in my hands and feet. To make matters much worse, my father-in-law was diagnosed with a brain tumor in late January 2010; he began treatment later in the winter, and our whole family was on tenterhooks for months. Then there was that whole broken ankle thing, which wasn't life-threatening but it was just a giant pain in the neck...er, well, you know what I mean. I think I can speak for the whole family in saying that we are all very, very, very glad to put 2010 (and the last three or four months of 2009, too) behind us. Far behind us.
Pretty much, Andrew's birth was the lone bright spot in a very long, bleak period.
But oh, what a bright spot he was. And still is!
So I welcomed 2011. I'm too superstitious to say that it has to be a better year than 2010 was, because 2010 was very rough, coming on the heels of a rough 2009. But I am still glad that we are ushering in a new year,ushering in this new year.
To my minor dismay, I did not get any iconic images of either of the boys this New Year's.
Longtime readers might remember this picture from New Year's Eve 2006:
That, of course, was William, at eight months. He was just delicious then, wasn't he? He had fallen asleep in the living room. He played hard and then he crashed.
At ten months, Andrew is far more mobile than William was at eight months. It's hard to get him to sit still for a picture, let alone get him to fall asleep in some adorable pose so I can snap a photo. But I did at least get a picture of him wearing the same pajamas:
As for that sweet baby in the first picture, well, this is what he was up to on New Year's Eve this year:
Those are the 3-D glasses that he wore to a screening of the new cartoon movie "Tangled" on Monday. That was an interesting experience, incidentally, but you'll have to mosey on over to www.parentworld.com and read my blog there to read it. In the meantime, suffice it to say that we're lucky that he didn't get to see all of "Tron" after all.
Hope that your new year is getting off to a good start.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Merry Strepmas!
Merry Strepmas!
Yes, that's a little step-filled elf, sitting there with a plate of cookies and boiled custard for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. Hope Santa Claus has good health insurance.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, both boys were running a low (under 101) fever. So their daddy brought them each an early Christmas present. When I was a kid, I usually got a sticker book or something for a Christmas Eve present, but for my kids, it was a rapid strep test and a flu test. Luckily, only William tested positive for strep. So it was off to the Publix pharmacy with us for antibiotics. I had sworn not to have to return to the grocery again before Christmas, and yet, there we were at 4:30 on Christmas Eve.
Insert obligatory "Thank God that we have a pediatrician in our family so we could dispatch this with haste" comment here.
Anyway, William and I skipped the children's Christmas Eve service. David went off to sing in the adult choir, and the boys and I drove around and looked at Christmas lights. William and I sang along with the Blind Boys of Alabama and Frank Sinatra on the radio. It was so peaceful, cruising around with "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" playing, as we gazed at all the lights coming on as the sky darkened. Then we came home and had a nice quiet evening. When David got home, William put out the plate of Santa cookies and David read both 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' and the Nativity story to the boys.
Also, William received a personalized video message from Santa! (Google "portable north pole" if you're curious.) David and I wrapped gifts after the boys went to bed, and as the night wore on, snowflakes began to fall.
And yes, Virginia, we had a white Christmas. In fact, it was my first white Christmas. I mean, hello, I did grow up in Alabama. It was just as likely to be 75 degrees on Christmas Day as anything. But the snow started on Christmas Eve, and when we woke up, there was about an inch of snow. And it continued to flurry off and on all day long. I was so giddy, you'd have thought I'd never seen snow before. You'd have thought I didn't spend all of last January and February snarling at the snow because I was so worried I'd get stuck out here and go into labor and be unable to get to the hospital.
Anyway, William woke up early. David hopped up and spotted him peering over the bannister toward the living room, craning for a glimpse of his presents from Santa. He also excitedly told his daddy that he thought he could see the tracks from Santa's sled on the snow on the roof of our neighbor's house. I immediately sat up in bed and posted that little gem on Facebook via my iPhone. (I so love modern technology.) And David and I decided to go ahead and let the boys have their presents from Santa, and then we'd have breakfast after the excitement died down a bit.
William was so thrilled by his Santa presents that it probably would not have mattered if he had gotten anything else for Christmas at all.
William was content to play with his Santa toys and his stocking gifts for a good long time. In fact, Diane and Mark came over around lunchtime, and we didn't even start opening the rest of the presents until after 1 p.m.
Here's William with David and the present that he specifically picked out and bought for his daddy (yes, you read that right):
And here's Andrew with Diane, and his special first Christmas present from her:
And the boys and I piled into Andrew's new chair for a quick picture right before bedtime.
I hope you all had a lovely Merry Christmas, white or not.
Yes, that's a little step-filled elf, sitting there with a plate of cookies and boiled custard for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. Hope Santa Claus has good health insurance.
On Christmas Eve afternoon, both boys were running a low (under 101) fever. So their daddy brought them each an early Christmas present. When I was a kid, I usually got a sticker book or something for a Christmas Eve present, but for my kids, it was a rapid strep test and a flu test. Luckily, only William tested positive for strep. So it was off to the Publix pharmacy with us for antibiotics. I had sworn not to have to return to the grocery again before Christmas, and yet, there we were at 4:30 on Christmas Eve.
Insert obligatory "Thank God that we have a pediatrician in our family so we could dispatch this with haste" comment here.
Anyway, William and I skipped the children's Christmas Eve service. David went off to sing in the adult choir, and the boys and I drove around and looked at Christmas lights. William and I sang along with the Blind Boys of Alabama and Frank Sinatra on the radio. It was so peaceful, cruising around with "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" playing, as we gazed at all the lights coming on as the sky darkened. Then we came home and had a nice quiet evening. When David got home, William put out the plate of Santa cookies and David read both 'Twas the Night Before Christmas' and the Nativity story to the boys.
Also, William received a personalized video message from Santa! (Google "portable north pole" if you're curious.) David and I wrapped gifts after the boys went to bed, and as the night wore on, snowflakes began to fall.
And yes, Virginia, we had a white Christmas. In fact, it was my first white Christmas. I mean, hello, I did grow up in Alabama. It was just as likely to be 75 degrees on Christmas Day as anything. But the snow started on Christmas Eve, and when we woke up, there was about an inch of snow. And it continued to flurry off and on all day long. I was so giddy, you'd have thought I'd never seen snow before. You'd have thought I didn't spend all of last January and February snarling at the snow because I was so worried I'd get stuck out here and go into labor and be unable to get to the hospital.
Anyway, William woke up early. David hopped up and spotted him peering over the bannister toward the living room, craning for a glimpse of his presents from Santa. He also excitedly told his daddy that he thought he could see the tracks from Santa's sled on the snow on the roof of our neighbor's house. I immediately sat up in bed and posted that little gem on Facebook via my iPhone. (I so love modern technology.) And David and I decided to go ahead and let the boys have their presents from Santa, and then we'd have breakfast after the excitement died down a bit.
William was so thrilled by his Santa presents that it probably would not have mattered if he had gotten anything else for Christmas at all.
William was content to play with his Santa toys and his stocking gifts for a good long time. In fact, Diane and Mark came over around lunchtime, and we didn't even start opening the rest of the presents until after 1 p.m.
Here's William with David and the present that he specifically picked out and bought for his daddy (yes, you read that right):
And here's Andrew with Diane, and his special first Christmas present from her:
And the boys and I piled into Andrew's new chair for a quick picture right before bedtime.
I hope you all had a lovely Merry Christmas, white or not.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
That is the question
I can't wait to see what kinds of questions Andrew asks when he starts talking. Right now, he's mostly saying things like "Da! Da! De!" and the odd "Guh!" and "Ba!" But he says them enthusiastically and with a great deal of conviction, so you can tell that the wheels are turning in there. Probably he'll bust out with some sort of jaw-dropping question one of these days that will have me floundering around for an answer, any answer.
William, of course, does this sort of thing all the time these days. The other day, he asked me me if we would understand everything about God when we get to heaven. I opened my eyes very wide and thought, "Wow. How do I even begin to think about that, let alone respond to that?" I ended up saying something limp about the mystery of faith, which didn't even satisfy me. I don't particularly like it when someone uses that as as response to one of my eschatological or teleological questions, but I have more or less accepted that, well, that's about all we can know at this point.
A few days ago, William asked me another question that strained my abilities: "What comes after outer space?"
I stuttered for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. I mean, the truth of the matter is, I have no earthly idea (no pun intended). I finally said, "Well. I don't know, William. I presume that outer space just goes on and on forever, but I don't know for sure."
This led him to begin asking questions about infinity. I tried to explain that infinity is more of a concept than an actual number. Which is a weak answer, I know. But theoretical mathematics, as a general rule, is not my area of expertise. Then, tonight I had the experience of searching for "googol" on Google. (How meta is that?) William and I know now that "googol" is the digit 1 followed by one hundred 0s.
Of course, I was all satisified just to learn that, and William had to go and ask "Well, what's the number after that?"
"Um, googol and one?" I suggested. (That is right, isn't it?)
The good news is that William does ask this kind of question. Those of you who know me in person have probably heard me complain about people who have absolutely no intellectual curiosity whatsoever. Intellectual curiosity is a trait that I value a great deal. I'm not saying that I expect people to just know certain things but I like it when people want to learn more. And I especially like it when people ask questions to which they don't already know the answers. (Sorry, lawyers out there.) So it pleases me that my son wants to learn more. It challenges me, too. I mean, I can't think of a single other reason that I would have been Googling googol, but now I know. I'm not sure if that makes me a better person--probably not--but hey, at least I'm learning something new.
Side note: I wonder if I asked this kind of question when I was a child. I don't remember asking questions that had my parents scratching their heads as they tried to come up with a reasonable answer, but perhaps I did. Mom, Dad, want to weigh in?
William, of course, does this sort of thing all the time these days. The other day, he asked me me if we would understand everything about God when we get to heaven. I opened my eyes very wide and thought, "Wow. How do I even begin to think about that, let alone respond to that?" I ended up saying something limp about the mystery of faith, which didn't even satisfy me. I don't particularly like it when someone uses that as as response to one of my eschatological or teleological questions, but I have more or less accepted that, well, that's about all we can know at this point.
A few days ago, William asked me another question that strained my abilities: "What comes after outer space?"
I stuttered for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. I mean, the truth of the matter is, I have no earthly idea (no pun intended). I finally said, "Well. I don't know, William. I presume that outer space just goes on and on forever, but I don't know for sure."
This led him to begin asking questions about infinity. I tried to explain that infinity is more of a concept than an actual number. Which is a weak answer, I know. But theoretical mathematics, as a general rule, is not my area of expertise. Then, tonight I had the experience of searching for "googol" on Google. (How meta is that?) William and I know now that "googol" is the digit 1 followed by one hundred 0s.
Of course, I was all satisified just to learn that, and William had to go and ask "Well, what's the number after that?"
"Um, googol and one?" I suggested. (That is right, isn't it?)
The good news is that William does ask this kind of question. Those of you who know me in person have probably heard me complain about people who have absolutely no intellectual curiosity whatsoever. Intellectual curiosity is a trait that I value a great deal. I'm not saying that I expect people to just know certain things but I like it when people want to learn more. And I especially like it when people ask questions to which they don't already know the answers. (Sorry, lawyers out there.) So it pleases me that my son wants to learn more. It challenges me, too. I mean, I can't think of a single other reason that I would have been Googling googol, but now I know. I'm not sure if that makes me a better person--probably not--but hey, at least I'm learning something new.
Side note: I wonder if I asked this kind of question when I was a child. I don't remember asking questions that had my parents scratching their heads as they tried to come up with a reasonable answer, but perhaps I did. Mom, Dad, want to weigh in?
Monday, December 20, 2010
The challenge of getting good Christmas pictures of the boys
Gratuitous Christmas picture time!
I so love them. I mean, I know I'm utterly biased, but aren't they adorable?
I took a billion photographs of the two of them in various matching or coordinating outfits, trying to get a good picture to use for a Christmas card. I have learned, in doing so, that it is exponentially harder to get a good picture of two small boys than it is to get a good picture of one small boy.
You see, if Andrew is looking at the camera and smiling, then William is grimacing in that time-honored scruched-face smile that all four-year-olds seem to do. Conversely, if William is smiling naturally and looking charming, then Andrew has his hand in his mouth. Or he's trying to crawl away. Or both.
It's like a Christmas miracle when I get a shot like the one I just posted. It's like getting your story on A1 of the newspaper or winning the door prize at a party. Woot! It makes me very happy.
And believe it or not, I actually got several good photos of the two boys to choose from. Here's another one:
And one more:
If only this one had been better centered:
But anyway, there you go. William's doing a little bit of the fake smile there, but overall, I think they're pretty acceptable.
I so love them. I mean, I know I'm utterly biased, but aren't they adorable?
I took a billion photographs of the two of them in various matching or coordinating outfits, trying to get a good picture to use for a Christmas card. I have learned, in doing so, that it is exponentially harder to get a good picture of two small boys than it is to get a good picture of one small boy.
You see, if Andrew is looking at the camera and smiling, then William is grimacing in that time-honored scruched-face smile that all four-year-olds seem to do. Conversely, if William is smiling naturally and looking charming, then Andrew has his hand in his mouth. Or he's trying to crawl away. Or both.
It's like a Christmas miracle when I get a shot like the one I just posted. It's like getting your story on A1 of the newspaper or winning the door prize at a party. Woot! It makes me very happy.
And believe it or not, I actually got several good photos of the two boys to choose from. Here's another one:
And one more:
If only this one had been better centered:
But anyway, there you go. William's doing a little bit of the fake smile there, but overall, I think they're pretty acceptable.
Monday, December 13, 2010
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Wow, it's December, and we have about three inches of snow on the ground!
It's very surreal. The snow started yesterday morning. It flurried lightly, in a lovely Currier and Ives kind of way, for a few hours. Then it started really coming down in earnest by early afternoon. It snowed steadily the rest of the day and into the evening.
And oh yes, it got cold. Very cold. Deep freeze-type cold. Fret about having enough blankets cold. It was beautiful, though. The Christmas lights on all the bushes were lighting up the snow, casting this beautiful glow. I wish I could have captured that with the camera, but it wouldn't have done it justice.
Finally, this morning, I decided that if we are going to get snow in December, we need to at least get out and enjoy it for a few minutes. We bundled up. Majorly up. There were no "I can't put my arms down!" moments, but we were about one layer away from it.
William's class read a book about making snow angels, so he was eager to give it a try:
And here's a sight you don't see in Nashville very often: a white almost-Christmas. Here's a shot of William in front of our neighbors' Christmas decorations (since they really went all out on the festive front):
The baby stayed inside, in case you were wondering. I may be crazy, but I'm not that crazy.
It's very surreal. The snow started yesterday morning. It flurried lightly, in a lovely Currier and Ives kind of way, for a few hours. Then it started really coming down in earnest by early afternoon. It snowed steadily the rest of the day and into the evening.
And oh yes, it got cold. Very cold. Deep freeze-type cold. Fret about having enough blankets cold. It was beautiful, though. The Christmas lights on all the bushes were lighting up the snow, casting this beautiful glow. I wish I could have captured that with the camera, but it wouldn't have done it justice.
Finally, this morning, I decided that if we are going to get snow in December, we need to at least get out and enjoy it for a few minutes. We bundled up. Majorly up. There were no "I can't put my arms down!" moments, but we were about one layer away from it.
William's class read a book about making snow angels, so he was eager to give it a try:
And here's a sight you don't see in Nashville very often: a white almost-Christmas. Here's a shot of William in front of our neighbors' Christmas decorations (since they really went all out on the festive front):
The baby stayed inside, in case you were wondering. I may be crazy, but I'm not that crazy.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Give a little
I've been trying to hammer home to William the point that Christmas is not about just getting presents. I've been trying to emphasize the whole birth-of-Jesus angle and the whole do-unto-others aspect.
I really wanted to do an angel tree or something similar this year, too, but it just didn't happen. So we're going to try to do some small "giving" things this year, and next year, we'll step up and do something larger.
So I suggested something to William, something that I figured he could easily get his brain around: giving a present to someone he loves very much. "Let's go to the store and you can pick out a Christmas present for your brother," I said.
See what I was going for? Getting him to learn how to give presents, not just get them.
William whined, "But I don't know what to pick!"
Me: "That's why we'll go look. You can look around and see what you like, and then you can pick something out."
This seems easy enough, one would think. Well. It took us about three different visits to two stores before I finally just lost patience and said, "Just pick something!"
Of course, he finally picked something that I probably wouldn't have picked. It was a little toddler keyboard. You can play it like a keyboard, or you can set it to play songs. It has these little moving figurines on top, too. And requires a handful of batteries, not included. Of course. Now that I'm thinking about it, it really isn't a bad choice. It doesn't light up or laugh maniacally or consist of many small easily-lost pieces. At least theoretically, it's even sort of educational. And it's not that big, so it won't take up a ton of valuable family room or play room real estate.
But William mainly picked it, I think, to get Mom off his back. And so he could go look at the trains in the toy store. I put the toy away when we got home, and it was like we never even bought it. William promptly forgot all about it. So I'm not sure how much of a lesson it was.
I'm holding out more hope, however, for the shopping trip to buy food to take to the Christmas Eve service at our church. Last year, we talked for days about how we were going to bring food to help feed people who are hungry. And then, a day or so before the Christmas Eve service, I took him to the store, and he picked out a bunch of cans of green beans and green peas to take as his offering for the food pantry. And he was so proud of himself, carrying them up to the manger during the service. I hope he'll be so enthusiastic this year, too.
And he did like the idea of donating some cold-weather gear to the "warming tree" at his preschool. I sent him to school with some gloves and hats to put on the tree as gifts for children who might not have nice new gear to keep them warm this winter. His teacher had to remind him to do it, but at least it seemed to make some impression on him, which is what I was hoping for.
I realize that this isn't much. But I wanted to try to do something to make my point. It'd be easy for me to just give things to people, but I want my child (and now children) to understand that they, too, can give. We can ratchet it up next year and then again the year after that. But we had to start somewhere.
I really wanted to do an angel tree or something similar this year, too, but it just didn't happen. So we're going to try to do some small "giving" things this year, and next year, we'll step up and do something larger.
So I suggested something to William, something that I figured he could easily get his brain around: giving a present to someone he loves very much. "Let's go to the store and you can pick out a Christmas present for your brother," I said.
See what I was going for? Getting him to learn how to give presents, not just get them.
William whined, "But I don't know what to pick!"
Me: "That's why we'll go look. You can look around and see what you like, and then you can pick something out."
This seems easy enough, one would think. Well. It took us about three different visits to two stores before I finally just lost patience and said, "Just pick something!"
Of course, he finally picked something that I probably wouldn't have picked. It was a little toddler keyboard. You can play it like a keyboard, or you can set it to play songs. It has these little moving figurines on top, too. And requires a handful of batteries, not included. Of course. Now that I'm thinking about it, it really isn't a bad choice. It doesn't light up or laugh maniacally or consist of many small easily-lost pieces. At least theoretically, it's even sort of educational. And it's not that big, so it won't take up a ton of valuable family room or play room real estate.
But William mainly picked it, I think, to get Mom off his back. And so he could go look at the trains in the toy store. I put the toy away when we got home, and it was like we never even bought it. William promptly forgot all about it. So I'm not sure how much of a lesson it was.
I'm holding out more hope, however, for the shopping trip to buy food to take to the Christmas Eve service at our church. Last year, we talked for days about how we were going to bring food to help feed people who are hungry. And then, a day or so before the Christmas Eve service, I took him to the store, and he picked out a bunch of cans of green beans and green peas to take as his offering for the food pantry. And he was so proud of himself, carrying them up to the manger during the service. I hope he'll be so enthusiastic this year, too.
And he did like the idea of donating some cold-weather gear to the "warming tree" at his preschool. I sent him to school with some gloves and hats to put on the tree as gifts for children who might not have nice new gear to keep them warm this winter. His teacher had to remind him to do it, but at least it seemed to make some impression on him, which is what I was hoping for.
I realize that this isn't much. But I wanted to try to do something to make my point. It'd be easy for me to just give things to people, but I want my child (and now children) to understand that they, too, can give. We can ratchet it up next year and then again the year after that. But we had to start somewhere.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Two of a kind
Don't you love this? Brothers being so happy together:
There are times when having two small boys totally wears me out, and then there are moments like that when it is all so totally and clearly the best thing on earth that I can't imagine it any other way.
There are times when having two small boys totally wears me out, and then there are moments like that when it is all so totally and clearly the best thing on earth that I can't imagine it any other way.
Time to go shopping
I had a sudden flash of realization about something Very Important yesterday.
I'd been planning to wrap up a few of William's old baby toys and give them to Andrew for Christmas--yes, yes, this is terrible and horrible, blah blah blah, but do you know how much stuff we already have?--and I wasn't too worried about buying a bunch of presents for Andrew this year as a result. Plus, everyone knows that babies like wrapping paper way more than the actual presents anyway. Am I wrong, folks?
Until William asked me what Santa Claus was going to bring to Andrew.
Uh oh. I guess if we are going to maintain the whole Santa charade for a few more years, I need to get cracking. Now I need to go find a few baby toys that are reasonably inexpensive so that "Santa" can bring then to Andrew. Andrew won't care if he doesn't get anything new from Santa, but William will notice. And yes, he will notice. This is William we're talking about. He notices almost everything.
Guess I'll head over to Toys R Us or Phillips Toy Mart soon and peruse the baby toy aisles. Any suggestions?
I'd been planning to wrap up a few of William's old baby toys and give them to Andrew for Christmas--yes, yes, this is terrible and horrible, blah blah blah, but do you know how much stuff we already have?--and I wasn't too worried about buying a bunch of presents for Andrew this year as a result. Plus, everyone knows that babies like wrapping paper way more than the actual presents anyway. Am I wrong, folks?
Until William asked me what Santa Claus was going to bring to Andrew.
Uh oh. I guess if we are going to maintain the whole Santa charade for a few more years, I need to get cracking. Now I need to go find a few baby toys that are reasonably inexpensive so that "Santa" can bring then to Andrew. Andrew won't care if he doesn't get anything new from Santa, but William will notice. And yes, he will notice. This is William we're talking about. He notices almost everything.
Guess I'll head over to Toys R Us or Phillips Toy Mart soon and peruse the baby toy aisles. Any suggestions?
Monday, November 29, 2010
And we have crawling...
On Thanksgiving Day, Andrew decided to make a break for it.
He reached out his little arms and dragged himself about three or four feet across the living room...to get to his big brother's toys.
And so it begins. It hasn't even been a week, and I can't tell you how many times William has howled for Andrew to leave his stuff alone. In fact, just tonight, he came downstairs and swept the Fisher-Price Nativity set out of his brother's reach.
"That's his now, too," I pointed out.
"No! It's mine!" William hollered, running back up the stairs as soon as he was confident that Andrew couldn't (easily) get to the Nativity set again.
As soon as William was upstairs, I made it easy on Andrew. I just piled all the pieces back into his lap so he wouldn't have to combat crawl over to them.
Besides, it made for a cute picture, and what am I all about if not a cute photo?
And yes, Virginia, there is a Christmas tree in my house already. It's been up since Thanksgiving.
How else would I get a Christmas tree assembled in my house if I didn't assign the task to my father on Thanksgiving night? I'm just bummed that he had to return home before he could hang all the Christmas lights up outside again. I may be a curmudgeon about the appearance of Christmas stuff before Thanksgiving but as soon as Thanksgiving dinner is finished, it's all fair game.
Side note on the crawling thing: Andrew has not really figured out how to move from a sitting position to a (combat) crawling position yet. I am not going to teach him. You'd better not, either.
He reached out his little arms and dragged himself about three or four feet across the living room...to get to his big brother's toys.
And so it begins. It hasn't even been a week, and I can't tell you how many times William has howled for Andrew to leave his stuff alone. In fact, just tonight, he came downstairs and swept the Fisher-Price Nativity set out of his brother's reach.
"That's his now, too," I pointed out.
"No! It's mine!" William hollered, running back up the stairs as soon as he was confident that Andrew couldn't (easily) get to the Nativity set again.
As soon as William was upstairs, I made it easy on Andrew. I just piled all the pieces back into his lap so he wouldn't have to combat crawl over to them.
Besides, it made for a cute picture, and what am I all about if not a cute photo?
And yes, Virginia, there is a Christmas tree in my house already. It's been up since Thanksgiving.
How else would I get a Christmas tree assembled in my house if I didn't assign the task to my father on Thanksgiving night? I'm just bummed that he had to return home before he could hang all the Christmas lights up outside again. I may be a curmudgeon about the appearance of Christmas stuff before Thanksgiving but as soon as Thanksgiving dinner is finished, it's all fair game.
Side note on the crawling thing: Andrew has not really figured out how to move from a sitting position to a (combat) crawling position yet. I am not going to teach him. You'd better not, either.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Gobble gobble
Happy Belated Thanksgiving from four of the biggest turkeys you know!
Sorry for the late post. We had to emerge from our tryptophan coma. It was a lovely holiday this year, with good food and family members. Even Andrew had turkey and sweet potatoes. Hope it was just as good for you and your family.
Sorry for the late post. We had to emerge from our tryptophan coma. It was a lovely holiday this year, with good food and family members. Even Andrew had turkey and sweet potatoes. Hope it was just as good for you and your family.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Second Child Syndrome
Today is Nov. 22, two days before Andrew's nine-month birthday. I am feeling guilty because he's about to turn nine months old, and I have only had his picture taken once. By the time William was nine months old, I think I'd had his picture taken at least four times.
Yeah, I know, there I go with the comparisons again. But seriously, I really need to address this. My brother-in-law has been known to remark about such things, being the little brother, and my own brother has been, too. I don't want Andrew to grow up and say, "Mom always did this stuff for William, but she never did nearly as much for me!"
This is, of course, a prime example of Second Child Syndrome. The poor, poor second child. The second child has to wear hand-me-downs, never gets as many naps, has to be dragged around to their older sibling's events and parties, isn't featured in as many photos. The first kid gets everything, the second child gets the leftovers. The list goes on and on.
[Insert editorial comment here about how First Child Syndrome is no picnic either. The parents are much harder on the first child, expect the first child to be more responsible, enforce stricter rules on the first child, etc. It's true, folks. Ask any First Child. I wonder if First Children have a higher incidence of stress-related illness, now that I think about it.]
Right now, I know Andrew doesn't care. I just hope that he doesn't grow up to care. And I really do feel guilty about some of it. I wish that Andrew could be the center of our universe, as David put it, like William was when he was a baby. Andrew certainly deserves to get some time in the spotlight as center of the universe. We all love him as though he were the center of the universe; in fact, he probably gets more love because he has William to love him, too, not just his parents.
But I'm not sure what I could really do about a lot of the things on the Second Child Syndrome list. The fact remains that we have an older child, too. I mean, I have to take William to school, and Andrew can't stay at home alone, ergo Andrew has to come with me. So he has to spend a lot of time in the car. And that messes up his nap schedule. It would be horribly wasteful not to re-use all the adorable clothes that are in wonderful condition, hence the hand-me-downs. Plus, he looks so sweet in them. And it saves money.
But I can do something about the picture situation. I just need to Do. It. I think I'll call the photographer now....
Yeah, I know, there I go with the comparisons again. But seriously, I really need to address this. My brother-in-law has been known to remark about such things, being the little brother, and my own brother has been, too. I don't want Andrew to grow up and say, "Mom always did this stuff for William, but she never did nearly as much for me!"
This is, of course, a prime example of Second Child Syndrome. The poor, poor second child. The second child has to wear hand-me-downs, never gets as many naps, has to be dragged around to their older sibling's events and parties, isn't featured in as many photos. The first kid gets everything, the second child gets the leftovers. The list goes on and on.
[Insert editorial comment here about how First Child Syndrome is no picnic either. The parents are much harder on the first child, expect the first child to be more responsible, enforce stricter rules on the first child, etc. It's true, folks. Ask any First Child. I wonder if First Children have a higher incidence of stress-related illness, now that I think about it.]
Right now, I know Andrew doesn't care. I just hope that he doesn't grow up to care. And I really do feel guilty about some of it. I wish that Andrew could be the center of our universe, as David put it, like William was when he was a baby. Andrew certainly deserves to get some time in the spotlight as center of the universe. We all love him as though he were the center of the universe; in fact, he probably gets more love because he has William to love him, too, not just his parents.
But I'm not sure what I could really do about a lot of the things on the Second Child Syndrome list. The fact remains that we have an older child, too. I mean, I have to take William to school, and Andrew can't stay at home alone, ergo Andrew has to come with me. So he has to spend a lot of time in the car. And that messes up his nap schedule. It would be horribly wasteful not to re-use all the adorable clothes that are in wonderful condition, hence the hand-me-downs. Plus, he looks so sweet in them. And it saves money.
But I can do something about the picture situation. I just need to Do. It. I think I'll call the photographer now....
Friday, November 19, 2010
No comparison
I know, I know, I know.
I'm not supposed to compare the boys. They're both individuals, different and unique, and it's not fair to either of them to compare them. I get it. I do.
But I keep doing it when it comes to their sizes. We found out yesterday that Andrew is a lot smaller at nearly 9 months of age than William was. He's about 18 lb 4 oz and 28 inches long. That puts him in the 25th percentile for weight and a shade under the 50th percentile for height.
Now, the height thing was to be expected. William hovered around the 50th percentile in height many times. He's always been between the 50th and 75th percentiles for height his entire life, although I think he once hit the 80th after a growth spurt. And Andrew feels long to me, so I didn't think he'd be really short.
But the weight! Ack. This is a baby who started his life at 9 lbs 4 oz, if you recall. He was a big old chunk of baby. But his weight has been trending downward. And now he's downright slender. I've been thinking for awhile that he seems narrow, and I just got that officially confirmed at the pediatrician's office yesterday.
At first, I fretted. I am so used to sturdy William that I just couldn't conceive of it being okay for Andrew to not be so sturdy. What was I doing wrong, I worried.
But as the doctor pointed out, David and I are not big people. It's not really that surprising that we might have a child who is on the smaller side. As he gets older, Andrew seems to resemble David more anyway, and perhaps that means that he's going to resemble his daddy in body type, too. And is it really so strange for brothers to be really different? I mean, look at David and Mark. Case in point.
And someone has to be small. In order to have a 50th percentile, you have to have just as many people on either side, too. Someone has to be bigger. Someone has to be smaller. It looks like William is going to be bigger, and Andrew is going to be smaller.
Or maybe not. Maybe Andrew will catch up later. I'm going to add some supplemental formula to his diet, see if I can get him to chunk up a little bit. Boy, there's something I never thought I'd have to do! And to be fair, he's eating really well anyway. He's putting away a bowl of cereal with fruit in the morning, two containers of baby food at lunch and two at dinner most days now. It's not like he's not eating. And he's happy and healthy.
And smiley. He really is a smiley little guy.
So I'm going to try not to worry about this and just do the best I can to feed him and take care of him and love on him. And accept him for who he is. Which is a wonderful, marvelous, delicious, smiley little boy.
I'm not supposed to compare the boys. They're both individuals, different and unique, and it's not fair to either of them to compare them. I get it. I do.
But I keep doing it when it comes to their sizes. We found out yesterday that Andrew is a lot smaller at nearly 9 months of age than William was. He's about 18 lb 4 oz and 28 inches long. That puts him in the 25th percentile for weight and a shade under the 50th percentile for height.
Now, the height thing was to be expected. William hovered around the 50th percentile in height many times. He's always been between the 50th and 75th percentiles for height his entire life, although I think he once hit the 80th after a growth spurt. And Andrew feels long to me, so I didn't think he'd be really short.
But the weight! Ack. This is a baby who started his life at 9 lbs 4 oz, if you recall. He was a big old chunk of baby. But his weight has been trending downward. And now he's downright slender. I've been thinking for awhile that he seems narrow, and I just got that officially confirmed at the pediatrician's office yesterday.
At first, I fretted. I am so used to sturdy William that I just couldn't conceive of it being okay for Andrew to not be so sturdy. What was I doing wrong, I worried.
But as the doctor pointed out, David and I are not big people. It's not really that surprising that we might have a child who is on the smaller side. As he gets older, Andrew seems to resemble David more anyway, and perhaps that means that he's going to resemble his daddy in body type, too. And is it really so strange for brothers to be really different? I mean, look at David and Mark. Case in point.
And someone has to be small. In order to have a 50th percentile, you have to have just as many people on either side, too. Someone has to be bigger. Someone has to be smaller. It looks like William is going to be bigger, and Andrew is going to be smaller.
Or maybe not. Maybe Andrew will catch up later. I'm going to add some supplemental formula to his diet, see if I can get him to chunk up a little bit. Boy, there's something I never thought I'd have to do! And to be fair, he's eating really well anyway. He's putting away a bowl of cereal with fruit in the morning, two containers of baby food at lunch and two at dinner most days now. It's not like he's not eating. And he's happy and healthy.
And smiley. He really is a smiley little guy.
So I'm going to try not to worry about this and just do the best I can to feed him and take care of him and love on him. And accept him for who he is. Which is a wonderful, marvelous, delicious, smiley little boy.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
The Big Funny
William has been The Big Funny around here a lot lately. I've posted these anecdotes on Facebook, but I wanted to preserve them for later, when I need a good laugh.
The first one...
A couple of nights ago, I was helping William get ready for bed, and I was combing his wet hair. Offhandedly, I mentioned that I needed to do something with my own hair. Wiilliam took the comb and offered to comb my hair for me.
"Thank you, sweetie," I told him. "You're a very thoughtful young man."
William beamed and said, "Thanks! You're a very thoughtful old lady!"
The second one...
William is heavily into fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt right now. I have no idea why, except that he's always loved yogurt, and maybe he just likes the whole magic-ish transformation that happens when you stir the fruit up into the yogurt. Given that he's not a picky eater at all (thank heavens!), I've been buying up a bunch of random flavors for him to try. Black cherry, blueberry, peach, pear, he has enjoyed them all so far.
Last night, he was rummaging around in the fridge for a new carton of yogurt, while I worked on getting the baby settled in the high chair. I heard him exclaim, with great joy, "Oh wow! Doughnuts!"
I was mystified. There weren't any doughnuts in the fridge. At least there weren't any doughnuts in the fridge that I knew about.
Then he added, "Doughnut-flavored yogurt!"
I peered over the top of his head into the fridge and saw what he was so excited about. And of course, I had to burst his bubble.
"Um, sorry, kiddo, but that's actually pineapple-flavored yogurt."
And the third one...
This really is not a specific anecdote, per se. It's just that William keeps trying to claim that he's a slow eater. If you know him, you are probably convulsed with laughter right about now.
The first one...
A couple of nights ago, I was helping William get ready for bed, and I was combing his wet hair. Offhandedly, I mentioned that I needed to do something with my own hair. Wiilliam took the comb and offered to comb my hair for me.
"Thank you, sweetie," I told him. "You're a very thoughtful young man."
William beamed and said, "Thanks! You're a very thoughtful old lady!"
The second one...
William is heavily into fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt right now. I have no idea why, except that he's always loved yogurt, and maybe he just likes the whole magic-ish transformation that happens when you stir the fruit up into the yogurt. Given that he's not a picky eater at all (thank heavens!), I've been buying up a bunch of random flavors for him to try. Black cherry, blueberry, peach, pear, he has enjoyed them all so far.
Last night, he was rummaging around in the fridge for a new carton of yogurt, while I worked on getting the baby settled in the high chair. I heard him exclaim, with great joy, "Oh wow! Doughnuts!"
I was mystified. There weren't any doughnuts in the fridge. At least there weren't any doughnuts in the fridge that I knew about.
Then he added, "Doughnut-flavored yogurt!"
I peered over the top of his head into the fridge and saw what he was so excited about. And of course, I had to burst his bubble.
"Um, sorry, kiddo, but that's actually pineapple-flavored yogurt."
And the third one...
This really is not a specific anecdote, per se. It's just that William keeps trying to claim that he's a slow eater. If you know him, you are probably convulsed with laughter right about now.
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