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.

Getting Home

My baby boy is growing up fast. It seems like just yesterday he was taking his first steps. Now he is toddling around the house like a pro. The best thing about him being mobile is when I get home form work at night.

Our driveway curves around in front of our house. There is a big window in the library that looks out onto the driveway. Max spends a lot of his time in the library “reading” books and playing with toys. Most evenings when I pull into the driveway, I can see him through that big window. He is usually busy pulling books off the shelf and “stacking” them on the floor. As I slow down to pull in to the garage, I can see the big smile on his face when he notices my car. I watch as he points a chubby little finger in my direction and I can see him mouth the words “Da Da”.

By the time I park the car and make my way through the garage door into the back hallway, I can hear him squeal and see him waddle around the corner as fast as his little legs will carry him. He looks like a little version of Frankenstein as he ambles down the wood floor, arms outstretched in front of him.

“Hello Baby Boy!” I say, as I scoop him up in my arms. He giggles while he squirms to get down. When I let him down, he takes off in the direction of the living room rug. He is making a mad effort to get away and wants me to chase him. (chuckling the whole time) The ultimate goal is to get to the soft, comfort of the area rug so we can “wrestle”.

When I get to the living room, I flop down on the floor so he can jump on me. As he crashes down on my back I shout “oh, you got me”. He just laughs.

I have forgotten about the stresses of the day. The only thing that matters at that moment is me and my boy. What could be better?

There!

Max is growing fast and his personality has started to really blossom. He walks everywhere and jabbers the whole time. His vocabulary increases every day. One thing that makes me chuckle is his use of the word “there”. Out of the blue he started using the expression to mark his accomplishments.

The most common example is when he is struggling to move something heavy. For instance, he will grunt and groan trying to lift the lid off of one of our ottomans. All at once the lid will come free and fall away from the base. Max exclaims, “there!” to let us know he has succeeded.

It is not always limited to heavy things. If he puts a book on the shelf or removes the lid from a piece of Tupperware he will say “there” as if everything is now right with the world.

Like the period on the end of a sentence, the word “there” also marks the end of his task. Then it’s on to another important mission…