How Cute! (for now, at least)

Max’s vocabulary grows daily. Each morning I'm amazed at the new words that flow from the mouth of my growing boy. Our conversations are less and less one sided with each passing day. My son has been content to listen to me talk as we go about our business getting ready for the day. Not any more.

With a smile on his face, Max will spout a new expression. More often than not, the new word will be shouted at me. Not as much as a response to my questions, but as a way to point out a situation that requires my immediate attention.

Just this morning I was feeding Max his breakfast. I mixed a bowl of oatmeal and placed it on his high chair tray. “Bowl” he said when I placed the cereal in front of him. “That’s right,” I said. “It is a bowl.” “SPOON! DaDa!” was his reaction. He looked at me as if I was crazy for not including the utensil with the food. I quickly handed him a small plastic spoon so he could begin eating.

Another example happened late last week. I was gathering our things so we could head out the door to daycare. I was standing at the back door with his school bag in my hands. I was trying to make sure that I wasn’t forgetting anything. Just then, Max walked up to me and said “All done”. “All done what?” I thought. He must have sensed my confusion because (as if on cue) “POOP!” he proclaimed while pointing at his diaper.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I mumbled under my breath. I decided leaving would have to wait for a few minutes. Also, he has been learning temperatures. When his mom gives him his supper, he almost always says, "Hot?" when she puts it on his tray. When she responds, "No, it's not hot." He says, "urm?" And when his mom reassures him that it's not even warm, then he finally says, "Burrrr."

Clearly, I need to be very careful about what I say around him. Who knows what phrase he will decide to repeat when we are in the checkout line at Target.

Helping Daddy Get Ready

I have mentioned before that Shannon goes to the gym in the morning. That means that I am responsible for getting Max up, getting him dressed, feeding him breakfast and then getting him to daycare. It sounds like a lot, but it is really no big deal. We have worked out a routine and I enjoy the father/son time.

Part of our morning ritual is that I get up early and get showered and dressed before Max wakes up. As you can imagine, it would be difficult for both of us to get ready at the same time. On occasion, like most toddlers, Max does not follow the schedule.

This was the case last Wednesday morning. I had finished showering but had not gotten dressed before I heard my son’s little voice over the monitor. “Daaaaaaddy,” he was saying. I quickly threw on some shorts and a t-shirt and snatched my son from his crib.

I dressed him in a super cool outfit (as only a Dad can do) and then fed him his breakfast. After I wiped the oatmeal and bananas from his face and hands, we retreated to the master bedroom so I could finish getting ready for work. I closed the door behind us so Max would not wander off while I got dressed.

While I was getting my clothes together, Max kept himself busy by taking things out of the vanity drawers and throwing them into the bathtub. “Uh oh,” he would say as the makeup brushes and assorted toiletries would fly into the tub. “It’s not an 'uh oh' if you do it on purpose,” I would respond.

Rather than spend time picking things up and putting them back in the drawers I decided to get Max a toy to play with. I went into the hallway and grabbed his little Leap Frog train. It is a little train that he can either sit on and scoot around or stand behind and push. That seemed to do the trick because he spent the next few minutes pushing it back and forth across the tile floor.

I was brushing my teeth and not really paying attention to Max. I could hear the plastic wheels rolling across the ceramic so I knew he was busy. Just then, WHAM! I got a full speed train right in the back of my ankle. “Ouch!” I screamed, hopping around on one foot, toothpaste dripping from my mouth.

I was fully prepared to scold my son, but as I looked down he was belly laughing and pointing at me. I’m sure it looked very funny with Daddy jumping around in his boxer shorts. I couldn’t get mad at him so I said, “That hurt Son, don’t run over my feet like that.” I don’t think he heard me through his chuckling because he reared back and took a run at my other leg. I must have looked like a matador dodging a charging bull as I continued trying to brush my teeth. Both of us giggling at the new game.

Needless to say, it took a little longer to get ready that morning. I know I should discipline Max for stuff like that because it wouldn’t be acceptable around other people. For now, though, I’m just going to enjoy his “help”.

Lawnmower! Bus!

My young son has developed an obsession. Sure, like most little boys he is fascinated with cars, motorcycles, trucks and heavy equipment of all kinds, but to our amusement it is lawnmowers and buses that have really caught his fancy.

I can almost understand the bus thing. Max and I drive by multiple bus stops (and a couple of schools) on our way to daycare in the morning. The school buses we pass are large, yellow and have flashing lights on them. What’s not to like?

It would be comical to listen to a tape of our morning drive conversations. Anything I say (or sing) is constantly interrupted by my tiny son pointing out the big, brightly colored vehicles as we travel down the street. A typical exchange might be me starting to sing “the itsy bitsy spider went” about that time my son will yell “ A BUS!”. I then reply “that’s right son…a bus” followed by singing “up the water spout”. “A BUS!” Max will yell again. “Very good” I reply, only to resume my award winning rendition of the song. “A BUS!” Max will yell again. By this time I am thinking, “Wow! That one has to be a half mile away” This continues for another ten minutes until we get to the daycare center. Of course, what does the daycare center have in their parking lot when we get there? You guessed it, a bus.

The lawnmower fixation I am still a little puzzled about. I hate yard work and don’t even own a lawnmower, but the mere sound of one sends my son scrambling to the nearest window. He will point his chubby little finger and proudly exclaim “LAWNMOWER!” He gets even more excited if he can actually see the machine. He will stand mesmerized until whoever is using the contraption is done.

The obsession doesn’t end with actual lawnmowers. He has carried around an old Lowes Home Improvement Advertisement until it is tattered and worn. He would be happy to sit on your lap for hours looking at pictures of outdoor equipment. When you get to the page with John Deere tractor he turns toward me and says “John Deere”. He is so happy.

Right now it is very fun and cute to see him all excited. I am sure this will change by the time he is thirteen and I buy him a bright green Lawn Boy mower to push around the yard.

Bottle No More (from a mother's perspective)

Max has been having a bottle only at bedtime for the last few months. He stopped taking bottles during the day, even at nap time, quite some time ago. He just preferred his sippy cup, which was fine.

I had decided that I would continue to give him a bedtime bottle until he was 18 months. I thought that was reasonable and had begun to prepare myself for the inevitable approach of that milestone. However, last week, I noticed that he really only drank maybe an ounce of an 8 ounce bottle. "Hmmmm," I thought, "I hope he's not getting sick or something." Then, the next night, Dan put him to bed and he came out of Max's room with a full bottle again. So, on night three, I suggested to Dan that we maybe just try it without a bottle, that we'd make one if he seemed like he wanted one. I would be on standby with a bottle nearby if needed. But minutes after the bedtime ritual started, Dan came out of Max's room. I anxiously looked at him and said, "Oh, do you need me to make a bottle?" Dan replied no that Max was already asleep.

Well, you'd have thought someone had just told me that my baby boy had contracted some horrible disease because I just lost it! Huge crocodile tears streaming down my face, I began to lament the fact that my baby boy no longer takes a bottle even at bedtime. I wasn't ready for him to stop taking a bottle. I thought as the mom I got to make some of the decisions! And I had decided he could have it until he was 18 months. I was supposed to have two more months to prepare. But it seems that Max had different plans.

We're going on a week without a bottle now. That phrase about things being much harder on the parents than the child suddenly has new meaning for me. Max has been relatively unphased by the entire thing, but I on the other hand, have cried a river. I shed a tear or two at Target yesterday as I passed through the formula isle without adding a thing to my cart. I guess it's particularly sad to me because I know it is such a milestone. He really isn't a baby anymore. And as our only child, I will never have the experience of giving my baby a bottle again. It has been such a wonderful experience, I truly leave it with a great deal of sadness.

I'm told by all my friends and family with older kids that there will soon be some new development that will overshadow this loss, but for now, I'm holding him just a little bit longer when I rock him to sleep at night because the foreshadowing suggests it won't be too long before I won't be able to do that anymore either. He's already spanning the entire width of the rocking chair across my lap and it's quite comical to see me trying to gently place him in his crib. I practically fall in on top of him since my 5'2" frame can hardly reach the mattress over the side rails.

On the bright side, I guess I can get rid of all the bottle paraphernalia and you all know how much I love to be able to get rid of stuff. Maybe that will make me feel a little better.

P.S. We had a lovely bath last night without any signs of fear or crying. I think that crisis has passed. Oh, and these photos are from The Primrose Easter Bonnet Parade earlier today.

First Haircut

We have successfully completed our first haircut without incident, unless you consider Max flirting with everyone in the salon as an incident.

I picked him up from his school on Thursday and took him to see Anjie, our hairdresser and long time family friend, at Jessie James Hair Studio. I was prepared for a meltdown since we've had such trouble with anything to do with water lately, but it couldn't have gone any better. Max behaved like a perfect gentleman.

Anjie had a little case to use as a booster, a cape with penguins on it, and some shiny hair clips for Max to play with while she worked. A few snips here and a little buzzing there (which kind of tickled Max's neck) and Max had a new 'do!

He was smiling from ear to ear as all the ladies in the shop admired him. And I'm pretty sure I was smiling from ear to ear with the relief that only a mother can have as her baby boy achieves yet another milestone.

Max and Gigi

When my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple of months ago we were all very concerned. Cancer is very scary no matter what form it comes in. The whole family has held their collective breath as we waited for details of the treatment and prognosis. As a son, I have tried to be strong and supportive. I feel it is important for me to be upbeat and positive when I talk to my Mom. I admit, however, that I did break down at least once or twice when we first heard the news.

One of the drawbacks to a family member having cancer is the illness becomes the elephant in the room. We all know, but it becomes difficult to talk about it. No one wants to broach the subject for fear of facing the possibilities. It has become even more difficult as my Mom began suffering the side effects of chemotherapy. It was quite shocking for me to walk into the room and see her when she began losing her hair. (Although not as shocking as the first time I remember “catching” her coloring her hair. I had come inside for a drink of Kool-aid and there stood Medusa in front of the kitchen sink, strands of hair sticking out of her plastic coloring cap.)

A bright spot during the last several weeks has been Max. He really loves his Gigi and is too young to understand what is happening. He loves her unconditionally and just beams when she is around. He didn’t seem to notice when Mom began losing her hair. If he did notice, he didn’t care. He has taken a shine to her colorful hat collection, though. As with all hats (and glasses) he will snatch them off of your head and attempt to put them on.

The first time he did this to Gigi I gasped wondering what my mother’s reaction would be. You see, my Dad has been “follicly challenged” as long as I can remember, but my mother was very new to the concept. As with all things, my mother handled the event with grace and class. She went along as if nothing had happened.

Mom has been amazing through every step of her treatment so far. With three chemo sessions down and one more to go before surgery and radiation, we are all in awe of her strength and courage.

Many times I have thanked God for this gift I call Max. His happy disposition and childhood innocence will often put things into perspective for me. I believe that the Lord uses my son to help our family focus on what is important. We are thankful for what we have and just enjoy being together. We should all be content with the little things like sitting on your grandmother’s lap and reading a book.

What do you mean you don't want to take a bath?

At some point during the last month Max has decided he hates taking a bath. This is very troubling to Shannon and I because up until now he has loved playing in the bathtub. He cries at the mere suggestion of a bath. The sound of running water sends him into a panic.

The other night I just said “bath time” and he replied with a pitiful “no”. Then he started waving his arms in front of him like a sailor on an aircraft carrier trying to flag down a plane. It was pretty clear how he felt about the whole idea of getting cleaned up. I probably would have let it go if he hadn't had dried snot on his upper lip and dried sweet potatoes on his chin and neck.

Gone are the days when Max would splash in the tub and play with his toys until the water was cold. He sobs from the time you get him undressed until he has been slathered with lotion and is in his footie jammies. It makes us feel awful.

I don’t know what triggered this aversion to water and we are at a loss as to what to do. We have tried a different bathtub. We tried a shower instead of a bath. We have tried just sponging him off in the sink. We have even tried getting in the tub with him. (Granny Alice even put on her bathing suit and got in with him in an effort to convince him it was just swimming.)

Nothing works. He just cries the whole time.

The real problem (besides feeling terrible that my son is wailing) is that he is mobile and active during his every waking moment now. He is working on feeding himself with a spoon and enjoys playing outside. Both of these new activities are causing him to be dirtier than ever. Now that he actually needs a bath, he doesn’t want to take one.

We will have to find a way to work through it because I don’t want to be the father of the “smelly” kid.