Spit up

Spit up is an intriguing substance.  I was never around a baby until I had my son three years ago.  He had a reflux problem for many months, so I quickly became skilled at seeing those subtle signs that occur a few fractions of a second before the regurgitated breastmilk starts to fly.  And it’s pretty easy to catch it if you’re prepared, as long as you’re in a well lit room.  The funny thing about spit up is that it’s at normal body temperature.  Which means, for example, if your son decides to shower you with it at midnight while you’re holding him in a recliner in a dark room, you don’t notice the extent of the damage until it starts to cool.  It’s then that you realize you are now covered from shoulder to knee with approximately 4 ounces of partially curdled milk.

And now it’s my daughter’s turn to help me refresh my spit up catching reflexes.  Usually I’m pretty good.  But yesterday she was sitting on the floor playing with some toys and I was lying on the floor with my head in her lap, looking up at her.  She often likes to grab my hair or face when I’m in that position.  So there I was with my head kind of sideways and a little upside down when I heard that unmistakable sound of an eminent spit up eruption.  But before I had a chance to move, it hit me.  A direct shot right into my nose.  And because of the angle of my head, it proceeded to run further up my nose.  All I could do was laugh at the absurdity of having my daughter spit up into my nose, something that most people will hopefully never have to experience.  And of course, my daughter just looked at me and smiled and laughed, which made it all okay.

The Easter Bunny

Since my son doesn’t watch tv, hang out with other kids, or go to church, he doesn’t know anything about Easter. We weren’t planning on doing any of the traditional Easter stuff with him this year anyway, so we’ll just wait until he’s older. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain the idea of a rabbit that brings chocolate eggs, since he’s still trying to figure out why people eat chicken eggs because isn’t there a baby chicken inside each one? Adding a rabbit and chocolate to the story would really confuse him, so we’re happy to let this holiday pass by quietly.

Today we were at the mall, since it’s one of the few places where my son can run on cold windy days. And of course, there was a big setup with a guy in a bunny costume and kids standing in line waiting to have their parents pay $20 for some pictures (a sign says “no personal cameras allowed”). My son just smiled and gave his usual shy wave when the bunny waved at him and motioned for us to come over. My son said “no thanks, maybe I’ll go see him when I get bigger. I’m shy now.” Which is a much better reaction than he had a few months ago when he was terrified of the mall Santa. So we ran through the mall for awhile, then stopped by the bunny place on the way out so we could wave at him again.

Then this evening as I was tucking him into bed, he said “The bunny at the mall waved at me. It was a pretend bunny, not a real one. Some day I need to go to the mall and dress up like a bunny. Then people can come sit on my lap and get their picture taken. And I’ll smile and wave and make everybody happy.” I have no idea how he figured that all out on his own. Neither my wife or I mentioned that there was a guy in the bunny suit. He’s such a logical and practical kid. He constantly amazes me with what he knows about how the world operates. I guess that’s what happens when you have two engineers for parents.

54 seconds

If you try to heat a mug of rice milk in a mircowave, did you know that there is a noticeable difference between heating it for 52 seconds instead of 54 seconds?  And 56 seconds is definitely too long.  My son must be part thermometer.  Sometimes before bed, he asks for a bottle of milk, so I’ll warm up some ricemilk for him.  52 seconds leaves the milk too cold  and 56 seconds makes it too hot.  He will absolutely refuse to drink it unless it is exactly the right temperature.  Sometimes I find it easiest to just make it too hot to start with, just just add small amounts of cold milk until it gets to that exact temperature where he’ll actually drink it.  When he visits his grandparents, they always try to give him milk in the evenings, but they never get the temperature right, and my son would rather go without his milk than drink it at a less-than-ideal temperature.

Last week I took him to the bagel store one morning when we were out shopping.  We got our usual order, and he refused to eat his whole grain bagel because there was “stuff” on the top (oat flakes).   Sometimes he makes me pick the oats off, but many days he’ll eat them without caring.  But he was being stubborn and wouldn’t even touch his bagel, not even the bottom half which had no oats.  So there I was being impatient with him when I looked at my own bagel.  My first reaction was “Whoa, there’s a burnt spot on the side where they toasted it too long and they didn’t cut it right, so there’s a little chunk missing out of one half.  This things not perfect, I don’t want to eat it.”  But then I realized that I was having the same reaction that my son was.  So he and I talked about it, and eventually I got him to eat the bottom half of his bagel.  I’ve been very careful to not comment about my picky food preferences in front of him, but he still turned out like that.  So I’m wondering if he was just born picky and if there’s anything I can do to help him get over his silly requirements for food.  I suppose I should practice on myself and see what works for me first.

A music group

I love playing music.  It’s been a part of my life since before I can remember.  My main focus was classical piano, starting with private lessons at age 5.  I continued these lesson until senior year of high school.   But playing solo piano pieces was rather lonely.  I also was in the band in junior high and high school.  It was a small school, with only about 30 kids in the band, and most of them were not very good players.  It was rather frustrating to not have anyone good to play along with.

During my junior and senior year, I participated in the all-state band competition, where each school sent their best handfull of players to perform, get judged and ranked, and placed in one of two groups:  the best players, and the next-to-the-best players.  I was in the best band both years, and was actually ranked first chair flute out of all the private schools in Mississippi.  The following month, I made second chair in all of west Tennessee, both private and public schools.  It was such an amazing experience to play with other talented musicians.  Each of those band experiences only lasted a few days, but it was very rewarding.  Since I never played sports or did any other group activity, it was the first time I remember having a feeling of being part of something exciting and wonderful.  I almost majored in music in college, but decided to pursue engineering instead.  I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d chosen music instead.

But my experience in engineering was kind of like my piano career.  Lonely.  I didn’t socialize with the other students very much, and everyone worked on their own.  It was rare to find another student who wanted to work together on homework or projects.  But I distinctly remember one afternoon during my last semester before graduation.  A group of 5 or 6 of us were working on a final project.  It was the first time we all helped each other out, each of us explaining the parts of the material we knew to someone who didn’t.  After several hours, we had a breakthrough, and we finished the project.  And that’s when I experienced that rare but familiar feeling of being part of a group, with all of us working together to accomplish something.

Recently my son had a friend (a little boy who’s almost 3) over at our house for a playdate.  My son was showing off his guitar (an old 3/4 size student guitar I had as a kid) to his friend, and I got out my new guitar.  My son handed the guitar to his friend and then climbed up on the piano bench and started playing and singing.  The little boy started strumming the guitar, and I played along, singing too.  And that’s when it happened.  I had that rare feeling of being part of a group again.  To anyone else it probably looked and sounded pretty silly.  But for me, it gave me hope that one day I’ll be able to play real music with my kids and their friends, and I’ll get to be a part of group sharing their knowledge and love of music.  Obviously at a different level than state competitions, but still music, in whatever simple but enjoyable form.

Pronouns

Today I was tucking my son into bed at naptime. I gave him a big hug and said “I love you.” And he said, “I love me, too.”

He’s such a smart kid about so many things, but I’m surprised he hasn’t quite figured out how to use “you” and “me” properly. He was that way when I’d say “thank you”, he’d say “thank me”, but lately he’s just shortened it to “thanks”, whichI guess is alot easier (even though he says it as “dank”, since he has trouble saying certain sounds). He did say “dadda a good daddy” this afternoon when he greeted me after naptime, which is a complement any dad loves to hear.

Parenting quotes

This evening I had to tell my son “maybe next time, try not to pee in the laundry basket again”.

It seems like lately I’ve been saying a lot of things that make me laugh when I think about them. I need to keep a running list of them and share them someday. Just like later in the evening when I said “please stop throwing your soggy diaper against the wall”. Being a parent is great, isn’t it?

My little helper

My three year old son is a great assistant.  He loves to help me whenever I do anything involving tools or lumber or noisy equipment.  He usually starts off very patient and careful, and he’ll do exactly what I say.  But after about 5 minute, he starts rearranging the screws or parts, or he’ll carry something off and put it in another room or inside a box or in his pocket.  This evening I was installing some lights.  I had to stop and locate my screwdrivers every few minutes, he helpfully put two important screws in a trashcan, and always being the motivator that he is, he said “done yet?” every 30 seconds or so.  I love having his help with projects because I know he’s learning, and it’s fun to work with him, but I’m learning that it takes at least twice as long to do a project with his help than it would by myself.  Which makes it frustrating sometimes, but it’s also fun and very rewarding when we finally finish and he says “Good job, daddy.”

This morning we were at the hardware store to pick up a few things and discovered that they were doing a children’s clinic in the front lobby where kids could build a wooden kit project.  This month’s project was a birdhouse.  Having built several real birdhouses before, this was quite easy for my little guy.  I was so proud of his expert hammering.  Kids twice his age were having trouble, but we had our house done before most people were halfway done.  He always gets complemented on his hammering skills when we do these clinics.  He got a carpenter’s apron with his name on it, and he proudly walked through the store wearing his apron and carrying his birdhouse under his arm.  Everyone we saw in the store commented on how cute and grownup he looked.  A lady in the parking lot even stopped and rolled down her window to complement him.  In one aisle of the store, there was a dad about my age who was trying to load some items on a cart.  He had a daughter about my son’s age who was wearing a pink tutu and was spinning around in the aisle.  The guy asked his daughter for help, but she ignored him and kept spinning.  I asked my son to put a small box in our cart, and he did with one hand, keeping his birdhouse firmly under the other arm.  He then reminded me of another item I’d told him about earlier but had forgotten.  The other dad watched us with a look of jealousy, and I kind of felt sorry for him.  And I realized how lucky I was to have a little boy who wants to follow along behind me and do everything I do.  It makes me realize how much of a role model I am, and that I need to be careful to be a positive example, not just with tools and hardware, but in my daily tasks as well.

Hammering last summer

Naptime

I’m lucky that my toddler still loves to take naps.  The hardest part is trying to get his naptime to coincide with my 7 month old daughter’s naptime.  Today’s nap was probably 30 minutes later than it should have been, and I was worried that my daughter would fall apart like she usually does when she’s tired.  I propped her up on the bed so she could watch my son get changed and ready for his nap.  He did his usual entertainment routine that includes running around, dancing, and jumping, which always makes her laugh.  Then he’ll lie down on his pillow and ask to have his sister next to him, they’ll hug and pull each other’s hair and ears, and just laugh and smile.  For some reason, those few minutes before naptime are consistently their best interaction time all day.  It’s been that way for several months.  Here’s a picture of them before naptime back in December.

I haven’t taken any recent pics of their happy time because I’ve been content just to sit and watch them.  It’s a time when I’m really glad we have two kids.  My little girl brings out the best in my son, and it’s so wonderful to watch the two of them as they develop the beginnings of their lifelong sibling bond.  After naptime, they’ll both be rested and full of energy.  The house won’t be quiet again for another 4 or 5 hours.  When it’s time for my daughter to go to sleep tonight, my son will run into the room, shout “goodnight!”, and run back out.  But I’ll still remember that sweet time we all shared earlier in the day when we were still and quiet, except for the gentle laughs and chuckles as they got ready for their naps.