Happy Father’s Day, Cat. Thank you for helping make these two beautiful boys.

And thank you even more for helping me to raise them to be kind, courageous, and generally awesome just like you. You do, indeed, rock.

When I go back to work in a couple of weeks (ACK! WORK! NOOOO!) Cat will be taking six weeks of California family bonding time and staying home with Devin. While I’m certain he is absolutely capable of this task I still thought it might be nice if I did some things to help make the transition easier. I mean, this whole time I’ve been the only one feeding the kid since, you know, I’m in possession of the boobs. And related to that, I’m the one who has been managing bedtime. And changing most of the diapers. And giving all the baths.

So, yeah. It will be a transition for both Devin and daddy and we’re starting to ease into it this week. Devin needs to get used to daddy giving him bottles of expressed milk (ACK! BREAST PUMP! NOOOO!) and daddy needs to get used to how often Devin eats and sleeps and needs a change of poopypants.

To that end, I thought that this would be an excellent investment. The ITZBEEN™ Baby Care Timer helps you keep track of the time between diaper changes, feedings, and naps. You can even set reminder alerts so I can set it up to beep every couple of hours which is when Devin usually wants to eat. There’s even a little wild card button which I suggested could be used for tracking tummy time.

The first indication that I am waaay more into this nifty device than Cat is was when he saw the little diaper icon and asked why there was a jock strap on there.

He is using it already, though. He’s timing the baby’s farts.

When Dax first started to eat solid foods he took to it like a champ. He loved carrots, squash, apples, peas, cereal of every make and model. He would happily eat every food we introduced.

When he was two he started to get a little bit pickier about what he was willing to eat. Still, I could get him to eat cereal and spaghetti and yogurt and cottage cheese and a number of fruits.

As he gets older he gets pickier. Since the baby was born he’s become impossible. For the past couple of weeks there have been days when he hasn’t eaten a single thing. He says he will not eat at school because he only likes to eat at home. He will not eat at home because he is not hungry even though he didn’t eat at school. He will not eat bread or eggs or anything resembling a vegetable. Fruits he claims to like he will not touch. He will not eat a muffin, a carrot, chicken nuggets. He will not eat anything. Not with a fox in a box or in the rain or on a train.

It is exasperating.

That being said, he will sometimes surprise me by wolfing down cottage cheese and two slices of whole grain bread. Then he’ll ask for grapes and strawberries. “I’m huuungry,” he will declare in between mouthfuls. “Yes,” I say, “I imagine you are.”

I’m told this is normal. I’m told to keep putting the food in front of him but not to force it. I’m told it is a phase, that it will pass.

I’m told, “I do not like eggs.” I’m told, “That’s yucky.” I’m told with great despair, “There is a CRUMB! IN MY MOUTH!”

Do you have a picky eater? If so, what have you been told?

I swiped this from Schmutzie.

The concept:
1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page of results, and pick one image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into Big Huge Lab’s Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.

The questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food? right now?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favourite drink?
7. What is your dream vacation?
8. What is your favourite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. What is one word that describes you?
12. What is your flickr name?

When I picked Dax up from school the other day his teacher said, “I need to talk to you about your son”. I could tell by her tone that he’d done something to give them a chuckle.

Apparently the kids were playing in the two playhouses Cindi has in her backyard. Dax was alone in the castle and two of his friends were in the cabin so he did what any good neighbor would do and invited them over. When his guests were leaving he was heard to say, “Ok, bye! But come and see your cool neighbors again soon!”

At that point I told Cindi, “Awww, how sweet! That’s what we call our friends who live across the street. They’re our cool neighbors!”

But that wasn’t the amusing part.

Cindi said the next thing he shouted was, “I’ve got BENADRYL!”

So of course she was curious to know about our “cool neighbors” across the street. Our cool, wholesome, drug-free, Mormon neighbors.

Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard from them in awhile. Maybe MY kid is pushing the antihistamines on theirs!

My son Dax is a talker. He chatters from the moment he wakes to the moment he finally succumbs to sleep (pausing briefly to shovel food into his maw).

Most of the time I love to listen to him. Sometimes he says things that are wise and sometimes he says things that are wise-ass and sometimes he says things that are so completely adorable that I start thinking that having THREE boys would be an awesome idea. (Note to self: It wouldn’t. You suck at pregnancy. Also…WHAT? Are you HIGH?)

My current favorite Daxism is a result, I think, of us telling him that we love him more than “blank” (where blank can be anything ranging from air to chocolate to Christmas). A few weeks ago my boy started snuggling up to me and saying, “Mommy, I love you as an apple.” I admit it threw me at first. I was all, huh? You what? But it is clear by his actions if not his words that he’s playing along with the “Guess How Much I Love You” game.

Swoon!

It is a whole lot cuter than when he calls me a poo head or suddenly shouts “BOOBIES!” for no apparent reason.

I had forgotten, sort of, about the post-pregnancy hair loss thing. If you’ve never experienced this (or if you had a baby one to five months ago and you are wondering why your hairline suddenly resembles that of Matthew McConaughey) then I shall explain it all for you.

At any given time, about 10% of your hair enters something called a “resting phase”. Then every three months or so that resting hair falls out to make room for new hair. Some women suffer from something called Telogen effluvium which is basically excessive shedding of hair resulting from a drop in estrogen.

In other words? I’m balding. When I wash my hair I come away with handfuls of hair. Literally. I could make a wig from all the hair I’m losing. Hey, there’s a thought: I can make my own weave from the hair that is falling out! Or maybe I could use my fallen follicles to knit a cap to cover up my receding hairline.

(more…)

They thought he had Leukemia.

For a couple of days last week, my dear friend Caren carried the horrific thought in her head that her nearly three-year-old son had cancer. I’m thrilled and hugely relieved to say that he does not and, even though he’s not out of the woods yet, he’s home and doing much better.

Caren handled it like a champ. She had her initial freakout and then she buckled down and did what she needed to do. I have no doubt that, if she had to go through that, she would do so with grace and strength. Even now, in the face of uncertainty as to what exactly is wrong with her son, she moves forward focusing on getting him well rather than on what unseen demons she may be up against.

I don’t know if I would be as strong. I mean, it wasn’t even happening to me and I was a blubbering mess. I was afraid for my friend and her darling son, obviously, but I also found myself crying when looking at my own two healthy children both in gratitude for their health and in fear that it might not always be that way.

I wish I could slather my sons with some magical mommy love salve that would protect them from every harmful thing in this world. If by simply holding them, kissing them, gazing into their smiling faces I could infuse them with health, happiness, and plain ol’ good luck? I’d never put them down.

I remember the first time that Dax was asked what he wanted to be when he grew up because the answer was both hilarious and ludicrous. I mean, there is NO WAY he can grow up to be a chicken nugget no matter how many of them he eats, right? Besides, he was only two at the time so really he should have been focusing more on what college he wishes to attend rather than what his career should be.
When I was his age I wanted to grow up to be a lion. Of course, I was also convinced that a pride of lions lived in the rose bushes in my back yard so, clearly, children of this particular age can not be trusted to do any meaningful career planning. They also suck at ironing.

The other day Dax told me that he wants to be a fireman when he grows up and my first thought was, “NOOOOOO!” because I really hope that my child’s future career plans to not involve activities in which death is a very real and present
potential outcome. That means, of course, that I’d also like to proactively overrule policeman, bounty hunter, any career in any branch of the military, and (as I’ve learned from watching Discovery Channel) crab fisherman. Of course I realize that it won’t be up to me what path he chooses but I also believe that parents influence their children’s futures by default and I don’t want my son to default back to chicken nugget because his mommy is a pussy.

As I was growing up someone very important to my upbringing would always tell me, “Follow your passion.” Her point was that I should find activities that I loved and do those things with gusto. I’m very sorry to report that I have not been completely successful in that. My life, it is filled with passion but my work life? Well, it is less than appealing. And I don’t quite know how to dig myself out of that rut. I know what I want to do, what I currently feel passionate about, but it just seems out of reach. To say this is a less than satisfactory situation would be quite the understatement. I really hope that neither of my children ever find themselves in this place.
How about you? Are you happy doing what you do? If so, can I do it with you?

Lately I’ve really been seeing a lot of myself in Dax. Oh, not physically; he’s still the spitting image of his father. What I’m seeing is strictly related to words and deeds.

Take, for example, when he requested that I record some more Little Einsteins. I told him that I would and then he said, “Then DO it.” I must confess that I say this to him on those occasions when my patience has been worn thin by repeated promises that he will perform some requested task.

I also frequently offer him “choices” in the hope that it will give him a feeling that he has some control over his world. You know, when it is time for bed and I know he’s not going to go peacefully? I might say, “It’s time for bed. Do you want to wear your Spiderman pajamas or your Batman pajamas?” We have this long handled shoehorn that Dax likes to play with and it has recently become his “Chances Stick”. He points it at you and says, very seriously, “Chances.” Then he offers you two choices, one of which is something he would like to do and the other which is something somewhat equal to taking a hot poker in the eye.

“Chances. Play computer? Or go to work?” (This after he’d been banned from computer and he’d overheard me telling Cat how badly I don’t want to return to work in June.)

Tonight, after I failed to make the correct choice during “Chances”, he told me “Mommy, you are my LAST nervous!” Many of you parents may recognize this as a modified, “Child, you are on my LAST nerve.”

He also imitates some of the sweeter moments in mothering. He tells me he loves me crazy, loves me infinity, loves me to the moon and back. He tells me to have sweet dreams and kisses me on the forehead. He pats me gently on the arm or back as we snuggle together. All familiar words and actions as I have said and done them myself a thousand times over.

If imitation is truly the sincerest form of flattery then my kid is the King of The Compliment.