I'd Like to Retire the Diapers Now!

I really don't mind that Max still needs to sleep in a diaper. Not nearly so much as I wish he'd stop requesting them to poop in. He will not even TRY to poop on the toilet. It's non negotiable. When he needs to poop, he comes into the room and announces "I need a diaper." Sometimes, he has already retrieved one and hands it to you to put onto him. Obviously, he recognizes that he needs to poop. I had always thought that was half the battle. If it is, then what's the other half? I think the next size up from what he's wearing now is a "Depends."

Sometimes he's been asking to see MY poop or my husband's (or yours too, if you happen to come over to our house and disappear into the bathroom). He says "I need to see that poop!" Then, when you let him look in the bowl, he confidently replies "I know!" We go through this same ritual when he asks to see the poop in his own diaper. I don't know what it means, but I'm hoping this is also a step towards potty pooping.

I have already packed away the little potty that he used to use when he started peeing in a potty. I wonder if I should get that back out. Maybe the "big" potty is still too intimidating. I never really wanted him poop in that potty because I didn't really want to have to clean it out. I figured if he was peeing in the big potty, he would automatically transition to pooping in it too. So far, no good. I guess I better start working on it again.

Do You Want to be A Big Brother?

That was the question I asked Max. He said, "No!!! I'm not big!!!" I left it at that. I don't quite know how to start prepping him for the fact that he's going to be a big brother to, not one, but two siblings. How does one begin to notify the center of their universe, that they are going to be sharing that spotlight, in the future? With very strong feelings about being able to provide him with a sibling, for him, I now feel somewhat anxious about how I'm going to be upsetting his world. I realize I'm not inventing the wheel or anything and he's not the first kid in the world to have to deal with this, but he's my first kid and my first experiences breaking the news. I guess I'll start talking about it here and there, waiting until I start to show until I really break it down.
Sigh.

"The number you have reached is not in service..."

I was talking to my mother on the phone this evening. Meanwhile, I heard the water running in the bathroom and thought to myself "How lovely, Max is washing his hands before bed." WRONG...Max was drowning the cordless phone. He carried it out to me and said "look!!" And I said "Oh f*#k!!!" So now the phone (that one) is dead. We will be needing a new one. That one had two handsets and that was the only working one left. The only one I have now is a rickety old Uniden in our office. So if anyone can recommend a good telephone, I'm open for suggestions. Oh...and so you don't waste your breath telling me to dry it out with a hairdryer...I already tried that and the darned screws were in that phone so tight that I stripped them. Aargh!!! I also tried canned, pressurized air with the little tube attachment and squirted it in the little nooks that I could get to. No luck. Maybe it will dry out on it's own...I dunno.

Poor Max. I made him go to his bedroom. He asked "mommy, are you happy?" To which I replied, "No Max, I'm not happy." And he asked "are you mad?" and I said, "yes, I'm mad. You broke the telephone."

Little Jack Sparrow

"The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do. For instance, you can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man or you can't. But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that some day. "
--Captain Jack Sparrow



Max was an excellent trick-or-treater. He was quite outgoing. Technically, he was ingoing, so to speak. My task was to keep him from walking into other people's houses. Something he was quite comfortable doing.

The only thing better than his exhuberant "CHRIT-O-CHREAT!!" was his happy and sincere "THANKYOU!" after each little treat made a thunk into his little skull bucket. Max has never been lacking for manners and I was proud of him that night.

His pirate costume was a Disney, Jack Sparrow costume, paired up with some sweats and Ugg boots. Accessorized by his skull necklace, sword, scarf and bucket, he was fully ensembled.

Max had just as much fun passing out candy when we returned to our house. He ran screaming to the door and when it opened, he exclaimed "HI GUYS!!! I GOT CANDY!!" Then he proceeded to put two handfuls into each kids bag! He loved it. I had so much fun with him that night. I can't wait until next year.

"Relax Mommy"

So, yesterday, Max and I were leaving the mall from a rather fruitful shopping day at the Disney Store. I had three very large bags of merchandise that I was trying to stuff into my little Honda.

Meanwhile, Max decided he would like to enter the car from the front, passenger door. I was hollering for him to "shut that door" and "come back over here," because a mall is never a safe place for a three year old to be lurking, in and out of cars in the parking lot. Max always enters the car from the back driver's side, so I can get him secured in his car seat.

Well, he runs back over to the proper entry point, where I am standing, continuing to stuff bags into the car, but forgets to shut the front passenger door. I say "Max! Why didn't you shut that door?!" and he starts to run back over to shut it, which of course is not what I want him to do at that point. So now I'm hollering for him to "get back over here!"..."leave that door alone!"...because I still don't want him running around the car, only to be missed by some negligent driver, whipping around the parking lot.

To that he runs back over to where I am standing and puts his little hands on his hips and says "RELAX MOMMY!"

Watch Out, My Kid will Clobber Yours

After a really nice time with friends tonight, I come home and google "aggressive preschooler behavior" and "preschooler hitting behavior." So now I am feeling quite helpless. Apparently this is normal behavior, par for the course. The advice is much the same. Don't scold. Explain how the other kid feels. Remove your child from the situation. Help them with words to express their feelings. Blah, blah, blah. The truth is, yes, all preschoolers probably exhibit behavior like this from time to time...but again and again, it is my little gem who stands out, heads and shoulders, above the other kids with his behavior. It is no consolation that he will simply grow out of this, especially as his language skills develop. Some of the stuff I read even highlighted the merits of aggressive toddler/preschooler behavior.

Max is not on the accelerated end of the spectrum for verbal expression. I'm sure he gets quite frustrated with his inability to express surging emotions. He definitely expresses himself with his physicality.

But like I said, "blah, blah, blah"...none of that helps while you wipe a tear off of the other childs face. None of that helps when you see the expression of anguish on the other parents face. It doesn't help the guilt or the responcibility I feel for my inability to prevent these acts from happening in the first place.

Good Boy Mommy!

I can't even remember what I had done that deserved the accolades, but Max recently said to me, with all the sincerity he could muster, "good boy, mommy!" Yes, I laughed and smiled and hugged and kissed and thanked him. Then, I ran out of the room and told Scott and we both laughed again.

Today, I made it a point to mention that there are "girls" and "boys." I have never really differentiated this to him before. It never seemed necessary. So I told him "Max is a boy...daddy is a boy...mommy is a girl...gramma is a girl...Jarod is a boy"...etc., etc.

I don't plan on drilling this into his head. I just thought I might plant a seed. Max is almost always assumed to be a girl, because of his long hair. He's not aware of it though. So I really hope that he doesn't become aware of it, due to my recent illumination of the fact that we, humans, come in two flavors (and some would argue more than two).

I'm proud to be considered a "good boy" in his eyes.

Did I Mention That Max Turned 3?

At 3 years old, he's quite large for his age. Not ridiculously, but as large as the smaller 5 year olds. I noticed this in his art class today. He is just as big as 3/4 of the 5 year olds. I feel like I need to make his age known. That way the other moms are not expecting him to act like their 5 year olds. Yes, he "JUST" turned 3. If he hits your 5 year old or he screeches, just for fun, he "JUST" turned 3.

I am tired of feeling self conscious about his behavior. I think I remember my sister-in-law mentioning the same kind of situations with her son. I remember her telling me how she made remarks to people that he was not a retarded 5 year old...just a big 3 year old. I guess those genes are running in our family.

And it doesn't take very much to trigger Max into some really "unwanted" behavior. If another kid starts running and shrieking, you better believe that Max will, not only do it too, but he will outdo the kid who started it. Yes, he often starts it.

It's okay. I'm learning how to handle it. Day. By. Day. I am not disciplinarian by nature...and when I am, I find it hard to live with that part of myself. So I have read plenty of books about how to parent a "challenging, willful" child without having to evoke the disciplinarian within me. After all, I still need to feel good about who I am while helping him become the best that he can be (wow...didn't that sound cliche and trite?)...yet it's true.

The behavior that I feel pressure to "squash," is almost always expressions of joy or exuberant excitement. Sometimes it's also expressions of frustration, but in either case, I just don't want to squash it because of social pressure and expectations. The only time I feel like I should really do this, is when Max hurts or intimidates another child.

When my little guy squeals out of happiness in a restaurant...and everyone is looking at me sideways to "shut him up"...I can't help but feel uncomfortable and inclined to quiet him down. But while I make attempts, I feel like a traitor.

I think we come into this world as pure as we can be. And over time, we learn to suppress our authentic selves. I don't really mind that it happens well into our adult years. It just kills me to be teaching these things to a 3 year old. All in the name of "social adjustment."

When it comes to raising my son, I hope for the courage to take the road less traveled. I hope for the courage to forge a path for others to follow. I find no bravery or integrity in taking the the well worn road.

No Problem

I do my best to teach Max a few manners. He says "thank you" and "please" with the frequency I would expect of a 3 year old. I consider him to be better than average, when it comes to mastery of these social niceties. I'm not obsessed, like some mothers are. I would not stand there with my boy, pushing the issue until he says it. If he doesn't, I shrug it off...he's still learning. I don't even say it 100% of the time myself. Still, I'm surprised at how often I must be using manners, because he sort of picked it up naturally, without a lot of attention drawn to it.

Well, with that said, I'm a casual kind of girl. I grew up in Southern California where we use a lot of casual slang. I guess it shouldn't surprise me that Max is learning Scott's and my language. Yet it did surprise me, yesterday, when I dropped my phone and Max picked it up and handed it back to me...I said "Thank you!" He said "No problem!"

It's Not that I Quit Blogging

I've been putting all of my computer time into finishing off my latest "blog book." There is a really cool company called Heritage Makers that has some really great book making features. After I accumulate enough blog entries, I turn it into one of these books. It's a professionally bound, hard, glossy covered book that will last forever...unlike this blog. So someday, when Max is much older, he'll be able to preserve some of his history...at least from his mother's perspective.

Meanwhile, Max has turned 3 and I have much to say about that.

Poor Morgan

Morgan was conceived of carefully, speculated, thought. Her breed was specifically chosen because of her good natured temperament and reputation for being good with children. She is half Golden Retriever and half Yellow Labrador. As if casting a spell to the winds, we spoke of her place in our home. This was to be our future son or daughter's dog. We were not even pregnant with Max yet.

One day an old girlfriend of mine called me up and asked me if I wanted one of her pups. Of course, it was exactly the dog we had summoned. So came Morgan into the world.

Morgan was about a year and a half when Max was born. She was very tentative around him, always gentle. As Max grew, he was able to touch Morgan and delighted in the feel of her fur. He giggled when she licked him. He snuggled with her and used her as a backrest while he drank from his bottle and a bond was forged.

Now that Max is older, in the absence of other siblings, Morgan has become Max's primary playmate and constant companion, second only to me. The two of them play together, like two bear cubs. They wrestle, growl, tackle, chase and explore the backyard together. They hunt for lizards as a team. Morgan runs around to the gate and barks at passersby and Max barks at them too.

Max grabs hold of Morgan's collar and drags her all around the house and yard. He gets quite frustrated when she breaks free from his controlling hold on her, as Morgan is much stronger than Max. He complains to me and he yells at her. One of their favorite pastimes is playing with the hose. Morgan barks and jumps at the water and Max makes sure that Morgan is soaked. Both of them squeal like little piggies, having so much fun. Sometimes Max convinces Morgan to step into one of his playhouses, where he quickly shows his true nature, trapping her and locking her in. She takes it all in stride.

The downside of all this is that Morgan has taken quite a bit of toddler abuse. She has weathered being attacked by anything remotely resembling a sword...sticks, brooms, stakes, kitchen utensils, hair brushes and actual toy swords. Morgan can definitely hold her own when they're wrestling around on the floor. She gets ahold of Max with her mouth and shows him a thing or two, but always gently soft-mouthing. She's also pretty good at pinning him down. Teaching Max that it's not okay to hit the doggie is something I'm tasked with on a daily basis. It's not easy to differentiate between the kind of rough, reciprocal play they BOTH enjoy so well and a smack to the head or back. Poor Morgan.

The Best Day

Max and I had the best day. We got up in the morning and snuggled on the sofa while we watched a couple of cartoons. Then we played with some playdough, using the pasta roller to flatten it. We went outside, onto the front porch, next and watered the garden. Max accidentally sprayed himself in the face which made us both laugh. Then we ate some leftover pizza for breakfast.

In the afternoon we packed up the car and headed for the beach. We made sandcastles and played on the swings. Max yelled out "I SANDCASTLE!!" and "I SWINGING!!" We surrounded our castles with army men and when we were done, we squashed them to the ground. We sang our ABC's and made up some songs in the car, on the way home. We stopped for dinner at Macaroni Grill, where we drew all the animals we could think of on the paper tablecloth. We ate spaghetti noodles, one by one, letting them drop into our mouths and sucking them the rest of the way in.

When we got home, we were so tired from our long day, that we both just laid down on the bed and fell asleep, snuggled like two little bears.

Every day that I spend with Max is the best day. I am grateful to my husband for providing me the opportunity to spend my days this way. This is the greatest gift of my life.

What Kind of Mother Am I?

I was talking to one of my "mommy" friends recently, who was telling me about the progress she had made in regards to bedtime with her daughter. It seems that she found a really helpful book, that helped to wean her daughter from needing to be rocked to sleep.

Later that night, while watching Max toss and turn, before finally falling asleep...in the bed that we all share, I realized how long it had been since I'd been able to rock him to sleep. And I got a knot in the pit of my stomache. A lump in my throat. And I longed for the days when I could rock him to sleep. I would rock that kid to sleep until he turned 15, if he would have it.

So today, I sat in the rocker (which is in our office). I tried to entice Max to joining me, but he was excited to sit at the chair, at the desk, which is normally off limits to him, since that is the chair that faces the computer. Well, I put a Mickey Mouse learning DVD in for him and let him have at it. He was more able to use the "mouse," which is actually a trackball, than I've seen so far. He had a blast. I sat and rocked and watched him for about 45 minutes.

Right now, as I write this, he is sleeping. I'm going to move the rocker back into our bedroom tomorrow. I'm going to see if I can rock him to sleep some night soon. I wonder what kind of a mother I am, trying to recapture the kind of behavior that other moms mark their success in ending.

There are Limits

Yes, there are limits to just how far one will go, as a parent, to console and comfort one's dear, sweet child. I have certainly reached mine.

I should, first, mention that Max does not care for wearing clothing these days. He will inevitably take off whatever he is wearing, most particularly his diaper. Since we are in the throws of potty-training and it's summer, it's really no big deal. Until today.

Max fell onto one of his toys and started crying. He crawled up onto the sofa, where I was sitting, as I asked him where he was hurt. While he proceeded to get onto his hands and knees, facing away from me, he told me "here" as he pointed to his bottom. I said "poor baby" and gave a gentle pat on the rump. Again, he pointed and with more urgency in his voice he said "HERE!" I asked "what do you want me to do?," as I sit there with his lil' pooper staring right at me. He says "KISS IT!"

This was one of those moments when I wished my husband had been there with me. I flashed on the expression that would have been on his face. I'm sure the expression on my own face was worthy of a Kodak moment.

All I could do was make a kissing sound and purse my fingers together and give a little pat with them. No questions were asked. Max popped right back up, healed of his injury, as only a mommy's (or daddy's) kiss can do. I had reached my limit. Kissing boo-boos is my job, my pleasure even...just not there.

I am the Lucky One

Down by the lake, in your three year old rock kitchen,

you made me breakfast; scrambled eggs, toast, sausage.
We both cup hot coffee in our hands,
taking imaginary sips.
I am the lucky one.

Hide and seek with the spiders, bread for ducks.
We watch the lapping water,
unnoticed, from between our crevassed hiding places,
while others pass quickly by on their way to "real" jobs.
I am the lucky one.

Autumn, the time of your birth, reminds me,

"This day shall not be your burden, but your delight."

I don't know where I'm going

or where I'll be when you're grown, but right now,

I am the lucky one.

We go to the city; stop for a treat...chips and slurpies.

Mine go down quickly, thoughtlessly,

while I delight in your company.

Salty fingers and red mouth, you're in no hurry.

Shoppers smile at your good-natured ways.

I am the lucky one.

A day of errands, I need a book.
No one notices, amused, as I do,
how you sit in the window ledge, warmed by the sun
among much older readers in the bookseller's shop.
Your face holds the same serious expression as theirs
while you read a ghostly tale, upside down.
I am the lucky one.

Errands finished, we're back outside.

Silently, we bend forward.

Watching the birds among the rose bushes,

you learn about rose hips, thorns,

and bird's preferences for crumbs

rather than bagel chunks.

Hurried passersby pause, your joy in the ordinary,

contagious, as you balance on stone benches.

I am the lucky one.

The day is done. I tiptoe to your room.

Tucking you in, I kiss your sleeping face
and whisper thanks for the day.
To my own bed I trod, feeling gratitude to God
and wondering why
I am the lucky one.

by Michelle Tobin

Beautiful Day

I took Max to the Huntington yesterday, where I had not been in years and he has never been. It was so beautiful and peaceful. I want to go back again soon.

They have a new children's garden that I had never seen. There were so many "hands on" things for Max to explore. There were fountains of all shapes and sizes and the kids were allowed to stick their hands in and touch them. There was a misting area and another area where there was fog. There was a kind of musical instrument where you pick up a handful of rocks and drop them through it and it made the most beautiful sound...like musical rain.

There was a rainbow tunnel that showed rainbows inside of it by breaking up sunlight with prisms. There were mounds to climb and paths to follow and a very cute little tea room, all covered in vines. It was a very nice addition.

We also went into the tropical rainforest exhibit and Max kept saying "animal jungle," which is what he calls the Rainforest Cafe...his favorite restaurant.

Then we had some lunch while Max chased "yucky bees" (which is worthy of a separate blog entry). Afterwards, we went for a walk to look at the Japanese Garden. It was gorgeous. This photo is standing at the top of the stairway that leads down into the garden.After that, and a poopie diaper, we strolled over to a lovely shaded area, under a giant weeping tree, where I laid out a blanket. Max collected sticks and I laid on my back looking up through the tree. I could have fallen asleep. After trying to entice me to, yet another sword fight, we played catch with a ball I brought and then ran through some sprinklers. When that got old, as things quickly do when you are only 3, we played with some small animal figurines.

Our day was so relaxing and full of beauty, that I didn't even mind the two hour drive, sitting in traffic, to get back home.

Cowboy Max

This is the second time that Max ever rode a horse. The first time happened while Scott and I had been sleeping off a 13 hour drive to New Mexico. We were told that he went from being completely afraid of that horse to being very upset at having to get off of the horse, all within about 10 or 15 minutes.

This time, as Max got on the horse, there wasn't a moment of hesitation. He loved every second of it. He had his own little hand motion to say "keep going, go faster." You can see him use it in this clip. Nicole, the girl in the photo, is a cousin. She put Max up on a horse with her and rode around for quite awhile. Max giggled when she would guide the horse to make abrupt turns.

Once again, there were tears when it was time to dismount. I think I may look into horseback riding lessons for him near our house in a year or two.

The other little boy in the video is Max's cousin Joey. Max called him "cowboy" before coining the name "Captain Cowboy" for him.

No Way Man!

I wish I could remember what these poncho'ish pullovers were called. Remember these from the 70's? They had a hood and in the front, a pocket that went from one side to the other? They were really popular with surfers where I grew up, in Santa Monica. Max's grandmother "Nana" got this one for him. It's Old Navy. I love it so much. I just wish I could get my hands on one for myself.

I suppose with his pullover and his puka shells and that long scraggly hair, he does look like a little kid from the 70's.

Not only that, but several weeks ago, out of the blue, Max said "cool!" I stopped in my tracks, wondering where he had heard that from. Max's dad finally claimed it. This morning, I asked Max to get out of the pool and he said, "no way man!"...hmmm...where did THAT one come from? Me? Then, later today, I was talking to him and I said "dude!!" and he looked at me and he said "dude!!" Busted!!! Too weird.

Bubba Lips

This is Max sleeping. These are his bubba lips. That's what we call them when he falls asleep. His whole face relaxes and his lips get really pouty.

Mommy, Daddy, Pig

A couple of days ago, Max and I had caught the ending of The Wizard of Oz on television. The characters caught his eye and so we started to watch the rest of the movie, one that had been a much anticipated part of my own childhood. Following that, another movie called Spirited Away came on. It was touted as having a similar plot, whereas the main character finds herself in another world with magical beings. They also said it was the first anime movie to ever win an Academy Award. So we started to watch it.

Then the phone rang.

Blabbing away, I quit paying attention to what was on the television. Bad mistake. Suddenly, Max runs over to me in tears, wimpering, 'speaking in tongues' and the only words I can pick out are "mommy," "daddy" and "scared." I had no idea what had scared him. By that time, the main character was sitting waterside and not much was going on. I picked him up and tried to comfort him with some milk and a snuggle in bed. For the rest of the evening he was clearly bothered.

After he fell asleep, I went back and rewound the cartoon (gotta love tivo) to just before the scene where he became noticabley upset. Well, it was awful. The mommy and daddy had been turned into hideous looking pigs, stuffing their faces at a resaraunt where they were being whipped by some black ghostlike beings. The little girl who had returned to where she left her mommy and daddy, screamed when they turned around and she saw what they had been turned into. Then those black, ghostly figures started chasing her.

Poor, poor Max. I felt awful. In such a short time I had failed to protect him from some really scary stuff. The kind of stuff that nightmares are made of. What struck me most was the look of fear on his face. I had never seen this look on him before.

The next day he seemed fine. It never came up. Then, this morning, upon waking, Max says, "mommy, daddy, pig." He was whining a bit. Did he have a nightmare? Was it simply on his mind again? Is he going to be scarred now? Ugh!!!! I told him that mommy's and daddy's NEVER turn into pigs and it was all just pretend. I don't know if he understood any of that, but it's all I can do for damage control. That, and make sure I don't let him watch anything I'm not giving my full attention to.

Ortega Highway

Ortega highway is a 40-something mile winding road that goes through the Cleveland National Forest. It separates the Inland Empire from Orange County. "Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go..." and so it is that we travel this road, as a direct route from our house to my mother's house.

If I am not the person in the drivers seat, I will get carsick; sometimes mildly and other times much worse. Either way, it's inevitable. Our family dog, who does not have the option of driving, also gets sick from this ride. So, when she needs veterinary attention, as my dad is her veterinarian, I must take a longer, alternative route. Or she throws up along the way.

I have also known, for quite some time, that Max also gets carsick on this route. One time he threw up right after we exited the highway, well before we made it home. Another time he made it all the way to our driveway before tossing his cookies all over himself and the car. And yet another time he simply gurgled his baby belly contents up and out while we were stuck in construction traffic on that darned road, with just a few miles to go. There was also a time when I realized he was not going to konk-out, so I actually pulled off at "Hell's Kitchen," which is a biker bar and restaurant. Max and I sat by ourselves on the back porch having a soda. It was just what he needed, I guess, because he didn't throw up that time.

Fortunately, he normally sleeps during this drive. It's long and boring for him and the powerful hum of the truck is the equivalent of 'slipping him a mickey.' Unfortunately, there are those few times when he does not fall asleep. Tonight was one of those nights. I was actually feeling hopeful that he might be outgrowing the carsickness. We made it home and I got him out of the truck and put him in bed. He was awake, but seemed sleepy. Just as I set him down on the bed, the one with the freshly laundered sheets and comforter...well, you get the picture. As I write this I am listening to the second wash cycle for the comforter.

My husband says the worst part about washing something that's been thrown up on, is that all the chunks, even though they come out clean, are still present. I actually plucked all the chunks off of the comforter before throwing it in the washing machine. Poor Max, he had steak for dinner and lots of it, not to mention the macaroni & cheese, sauteed mushrooms and some salad...blech!!!

So the bedding went into the washing machine and Max went into the tub. Both are going to be cleaned and put right back onto the bed. Maybe next time I'll bring a little Benadryl for the ride over.

You WISH I Had a Picture for This

So, today I am having a fabulous lunch with my fabulous parents at a fabulous winery. Of course my fabulous son is with us. We are seated at a table under the Wisteria covered gazebo, enjoying our chicken/salmon/mahi mahi salads. Max is eating buttered spaghetti noodles. He's not just eating the noodles, but also running around the grounds, chasing birds and having fun. He's not eating the noodles while he sits in a chair at the table with us. He's shoving down handfuls in between chasing the birds around. So he is eating like some kind of caveman. All of a sudden he starts shoving his finger up his nose and saying "nose!" He is shoving that finger all the way up to his second little knuckle. He is scrunching up his whole face and whimpering. He rubs his hands on his face and he is clearly in a lot of discomfort. I think that he may have gotten some pepper in his nose. I tilt his head back and look, but nothing. I put my mouth over his nose and blow, thinking maybe something is stuck, but nothing. Max sneezes and nothing. I sit back down, thinking that whatever is bothering him, it will soon stop. My mom takes over. She tries blowing in his nose too, but has the same result. Then, all of a sudden, Max sneezes again. This time there is a little piece of spaghetti sticking out of his nose and my mom pulls on it, revealing a 3 inch strand that comes out. I get little shivers just thinking about it. Gross!!! Truly a missed Kodak moment. We start laughing and Max just runs off, after another bird, like nothing ever happened.

Krinken

Krinken was a little child,—
It was summer when he smiled.
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Stretched its white arms out to him,
Calling, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the child heard not the sea,
Calling, yearning evermore
For the summer on the shore.

Krinken on the beach one day
Saw a maiden Nis at play;
On the pebbly beach she played
In the summer Krinken made.
Fair, and very fair, was she,
Just a little child was he.

"Krinken," said the maiden Nis,
"Let me have a little kiss,
Just a kiss, and go with me
To the summer-lands that be
Down within the silver sea.

"Krinken was a little child—
By the maiden Nis beguiled,
Hand in hand with her went he,
And 'twas summer in the sea.
And the hoary sea and grim
To its bosom folded him—
Clasped and kissed the little form,
And the ocean's heart was warm.

Now the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,—
Winter where that little child
Made sweet summer when he smiled;
Though 'tis summer on the sea
Where with maiden Nis went he,—
Summer, summer evermore,—
It is winter on the shore,
Winter, winter evermore.

Of the summer on the deep
Come sweet visions in my sleep:
His fair face lifts from the sea,
His dear voice calls out to me,—
These my dreams of summer be.

Krinken was a little child,
By the maiden Nis beguiled;
Oft the hoary sea and grim
Reached its longing arms to him,
Crying, "Sun-child, come to me;
Let me warm my heart with thee!"
But the sea calls out no more;
It is winter on the shore,—
Winter, cold and dark and wild.

Krinken was a little child,—
It was summer when he smiled;
Down he went into the sea,
And the winter bides with me.
Just a little child was he.

Eugene Fields

"Sit Down...NOW!!!"

Max has learned the power of issuing an order. He delivers it with the finesse of a military drill seargant. He points, furiously, to the spot where your compliance must be surrendered. Before you can react, he as re-issued the order. Not just once, but twice and even three times more. He is amused and thrilled with the command of his own voice. He is not just loud, but deep and gravelly.

The order comes when he wants you to play with a few of his toys or read a book with him. It's cute. He's too young for any malintent. He just wants your company.

I, on the other hand, was the first to issue such a command. It usually came after several unsuccessful attempts in persuading Max to sit down for some occasion, such as eating. It was delivered with much impatience.

Max is the mirror which holds my image. Sometimes the feedback I get is immediate and other times it must sink in. I shall have to work on my own finesse, patience, kindness and overall delivery.

"I GOT IT!!"

Max has been poking his finger in his bottom and checking it. It's really bugging me. I don't know how many times a day I have to wipe off his fingers. There's bacteria there. Even if it's "clean." You can get diseases from injesting that bacteria. I am so grossed out by this and he won't stop. Anyway, tonight, before bed and after our shower, he was doing it again. I shook my head and said "Max. Get your finger out of there please." He pulled out his finger, held it up in the air and shouted "I GOT IT!!!" Well, whatever it was, now that's he's found it, I just hope he quits looking for it. Boys!

Who Says You Can't Use Desitin as Hand & Body Lotion?

I cannot count the number of times in a day that Max manages to make a huge mess or get into some mischief. I feel like a slapstick fire-fighter running around with my hose all day, putting out "fires." While I took a phone call this morning, he managed to drag an end table to our kitchen counter so that he could climb up to it. Once he got up there, he knocked all the mail onto the floor and dropped a package of chocolate covered almonds. Well, the dogs ate the chocolate and if you know anything about dogs and chocolate, you know that it's a very bad thing. So I called my dad's veterinary clinic and got instructions to induce vomiting. After pouring peroxide down both dogs throats, I waited for them to throw up, outside. Only Fred, the mini dachsund actually threw up, thank goodness, because he is a very small dog. Anyway, even though Morgan never tossed her cookies (or chocolates in this case), they are both alive and kicking and have survived. Max filled the empty chocolate package with some Cheetos he found up there and took them into the bedroom, where my husband was sleeping. Then he got his little, cheesy fingers all over our 420 thread count, white sheets. Later in the day, in no particular order, Max also managed the following:

• Brought dirt clods into the house that he retrieved while going in and out of the doggy-door.
• Pulled out a bunch of my dvds (through the slotted cabinet) and opened them up, removing all the dvds and got gooey handprints all over them.
• Took his diaper off and got poop all over the place while trying to wipe himself with the wipes.
• Squeezed AstroGlide, yes, the lube (I use it to make taking his temperature the old fashioned way a little easier when he's really sick-it's way better than vaseline) all over the carpet in his bedroom.
• Poured sand in the dog's water bowl.
• Knocked a whole bowl of macaroni & cheese onto the carpet.
• Drew with a crayon on the monitor.

So in the big-picture-scheme-of-things...using Desitin as a body lotion just isn't a big deal.

Some Progress...and a Few Setbacks

Well, our 14 year old Dachsund peed on the tile floor again tonight. I was busy doing laundy and he never gave me any signs. The good news is that when Max saw it on the floor, he actually walked around it instead of splashing around in it like it was a puddle from a spring rain.

Two days ago I was playing outside with Max when I received an anticipated phone call from my doctor's office. I was on the phone for about 8 minutes. During that time, Max climbed the retaining wall and went back into the "forbidden zone" to confiscate the poop scoopers. I was actually smiling when I saw that he had picked up some of little Fred's poops and had put them in the scooper quite nicely. Then suddenly, as things things always seem to occur, and while I'm still smiling, he reaches down and picks one up and tries to taste it. Well, I started screaming, shrieking or whatever you want to call my panicked shouts of "NOOOOOOOO!!! PUT THAT DOWN!!!! YUCKY!!!!!," as I ran to him and quickly removed him from the scene. We rushed into the bathroom to wash hands and I rinsed out his mouth and wiped it off. I wished I had some mouthwash or something. Blech!!!

I guess that's why this blog is called "poop in hand." Maybe I should change it to "poop in mouth."

Our First Fight

I've recently experienced my first fight with Max. We were gardening in the front yard when some visitors of our next door neighbor showed up...with children. Max doesn't understand that he can't just join any ole' family, just because they have kids. So as he tried to follow them, I had to retrieve him. He was not happy at all. Because he would not stay nearby and kept trying to take off after them, I told him he was having a little "bedroom time." Bringing him indoors proved to be an unforgivable sin, in his eyes. I put him in his room and I could hear him screaming, crying and chewing me out the whole time. After several minutes I asked him if he was ready to come out and he yelled back at me, "no mommy, go way!!!"" and continued to chew me out. He was ranting and raving and although I could not decipher his words, I was quite attuned to their meaning. I asked several more times and he answered the same way. I had never seen him react so strongly before. I sat outside his bedroom door, waiting for him to quiet down and let me know he was ready to come out. I tried to open the door, but from the other side he was shutting it on me. He's a strong boy, so I couldn't get in easily. I knew his bedroom blinds were open, so I went outside and looked into his room, smiling and waving. When he saw me, he instantly burst into tears again and chewed me out some more. It was horrible. After a little more cooling down time, I forced my way into his room and started reading books. He softened up a bit and came over to look at the pages as I turned them. I tried to hug him, but he pushed me away, clearly still mad. At that point I left his room and prepared some macaroni and cheese for him. After he ate, all seemed well again. Max has very recently been exercising his right to say "no." He has his own ideas about what he wants to do now and doesn't hesitate to let me know they're not the same as mine. It's strange to see such a young little man with arms crossed, head hung low and scowling with a big fat pouty lip. I better hang on tight, I'm sure it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Max's Diet

These are things that Max currently likes to eat:

• Pirate Booty
• Nilla Wafers
• Pizza
• Mac n Cheese
• Pickles
• Scrambled Eggs
• Soy Sausage
• Cookies
• Cottage Cheese
• Goldfish Crackers
• Chips
• Avocado
• French Fries
• Cheese
• Toast
• Bananas
• Ice Cream
• Salad
• Quiche
• Chicken Legs
• Spaghetti
• Popcorn
• Steak
• Cereal

When I look at this list, I'm shocked at how much of it's junk food. He's been a very finicky eater for quite a while now. He used to eat sweet potatos, broccoli and cream of wheat along with all kinds of healthy things. When he was a baby I would mix mangos, bananas and yogurt with wheat germ. I tried to get him to eat healthy as he became a toddler, but I was just so happy to see him consuming calories of any kind, that I didn't care that he was developing a taste for junk food. A lot of his little friends eat junk food and quite frankly I'm surprised at how often it's dished up to little minds and bodies that need real nourishment. Well, now that I've seen this on paper, I'm going to put effort back into trying to get him to eat things that are healthier for him. Me too, for that matter.

The Worst Mother in the World

I know that we all feel like the worst mother in the world every once in a while. I certainly felt like it this morning, when through clenched teeth I uttered, "you're pissing me off," to my wildly active two year old. I was trying to do something I almost never do, put some makeup on. I was standing in front of the mirrored closet door. He was banging on the doors, making them shake and bow. He was yelling out loud, nothing in particular. I moved from one of the doors to the other and he began banging on that one as well.

Some days I feel like I do nothing more than do battle with an opponent with whom I'm no match for. I get so worn down from the constant confrontation and exertion of wills, both his and mine. Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. I never knew how much mental and emotional energy would be required of me.

The pay off for all of this is worth it though. There are times when he says "tank ewe momma" (thank you mamma), a phrase I recognize more by it's tone than it's content. Other times when he gives me an unsolicited hug and sighs "awwwww," while he pats my back.

What I really need is an energy drink that works and to bite my tongue, rather than express how "pissed off" I am.

The Loudest Fart I Ever Heard

Came from the smallest, sweetest butt I ever saw.

Tears in Heaven

Yesterday, I was watching 20/20 and they had an interview with Eric Clapton's deceased son's mother. It was the first she had done. They had also shown some video clips of him. I think it's been 12 or 15 years, something like that. Anyway, I can't stop thinking about it. I can't get his face out of my mind. I can't get Eric Clapton's song out of my mind. This child was one of the most beautiful children I've ever seen. I can't stop thinking about the horror that his mother must have felt at that moment. My stomach has been knotted up all day. I get choked up. Something like that changes you forever. To know about that story is bad enough, but to see the footage of that boy and how special he was...the loss was unfathomable. I never want lose sight of how blessed I am to have Max in my life and be a part of his. I never want to forget to appreciate him each and every single hour of every day.

He's Making That Face

He's making that face that I hate. His father makes it. I'm told his grandfather makes it. I hate this face. I can't think of a dummer look than when your tongue is sticking out and up, as if you're trying to touch your nose with it. I'm hoping that this is really nothing more than a coincidence. He's just licking the cake off of his lips. Well, this was taken at his second birthday party. I've been remiss in writing because I've been feeling literarily (is that a word?) uninspired...not to be confused with feeling uninspired about my boy, which I never am. These past two years have been the greatest gift of my life. I could ooze and gush all the love I feel for this child and it would never come close to doing justice. I hope that Max knows how deeply he's loved.

Mad Fashion Sense

This is what happens when Max dresses himself. What you're looking at is Max's ensemble of blue and purple baseball cap (on backwards), glittery, purple, cat-eye sunglasses, white Nikes (on the right feet), puka shell necklace and a pajama top (worn as a skirt).

Would you like Ketchup with that?

I usually have to sneak away to get on the computer to check my email. Today was no different. I really think I'm smooth when I get away with it and actually have 5 or 10 minutes to take my time. I should have mistrusted the silence. Should have known something was going on. In my ignorant state of denial and self-indulgence, I should have listened to my inner voice that said..."Max is up to something!"

So, when he finally approached me from behind, as I sat at the desk, I suggested he go play with the doggie, without looking at him. He was asking me to read a book to him. Then he shoved it in my lap. I felt it and smelled it before I actually saw it. It was covered with ketchup. Then I looked at Max. He was covered in ketchup. I scooped him up and took him to the bathroom to wash him off. Then I recon'd the rest of the house...first discovering the ketchup mural on the wall. Then I located the ketchup smeared all over the coffee table. Then the sofa. Thank god for Oxyclean. It got all the ketchup stains out. So next time someone asks me "would you like ketchup with that?"...it's going to be an emphatic "NO!"

The Family Bed

Max is sleeping in the other room. He's surrounded by his stuffed animals. He still sleeps like a little stink bug, on his stomach, with his knees tucked under him and his little butt up in the air. Before he fell asleep, he was staring at the ceiling, chattering away, having the kind of conversation that toddlers have with themselves, sounding quite serious. He looked over at me before nodding out and smiled, then closed his eyes. I'm satisfied knowing that Max's experience of bedtime is secure, with me at his side. I've never regretted the decision for him to share our bed. I've always felt that it was the right thing for us to do.

All This...and That's Just Monday

My max likes to climb on other people's furniture. He likes to climb on my furniture too. He spits his food out if he doesn't like it. He squeezes the juice out of his juice box, onto the floor. He pokes, prods, pushes and pulls at other children. He screams as loud as he can because he likes the sound. He pulls my hair and hits me in the face. He jumps on the bed. He dumps the dog's food and water onto the floor. He turns all the televisions in the house on at the same time. He pulls his diaper off and gets poop on the carpet. He turns the hot water faucet on, in the tub. He dumps his breakfast onto the floor. He empties the contents of drawers out. He squeezes lotion and shampoo onto the carpet. He smears handprints all over the closet-door mirror. He leaves toys all over the house. He bangs on the piano keys with all kinds of objects. He hits the dog on the head with his maracca. He pushes the buttons on the televisions until there is no picture and way too much sound. He has tantrums when he can't have his way, sometimes. He arches his back and kicks when I pick him up to change his diaper. He splashes all the bath water onto the carpet. All this...and that's just Monday.

Wonder and Amazement

Max is mesmerized by the discovery of a rooster at the petting zoo.

Secure with his Manhood.

While watching Max play with some other children at a party today, I learned the following things:

If you take something away from him, he'll hit you.
If you have something he wants, he will take it, and he may still hit you.
If there is a light sabre or baseball bat in the room, he will find it and bash you with it.
His scream is louder than most.
Chalk tastes good.
Sand must be redistributed from the sandbox to other parts of the yard.
He is secure enough with his manhood to play with dolls.
Sometimes he laughs insincerely and it sounds very phoney.
He likes to be where the action is.
Eating Doritos can give you a clown-ish mouth, resembling the Joker from Batman.
Breaking for milk is a must, but food is a waste of time.

How to Eat a Popsicle - by Max

1. Make sure to choose a very hot day for maximum meltability.
2. Have mommy get popsicle and unwrap.
3. Grab popsicle by frozen part and not the stick.
4. Drop popsicle after being startled by the cold.
5. Yell loudly, as mommy retrieves popsicle, to let her know you want it back.
6. Grab popsicle by frozen part and not the stick.
7. Taste popsicle.
8. Drop popsicle after being startled by the cold.
9. Yell loudly, as mommy retrieves popsicle, to let her know you want it back.
10. Grab popsicle by stick this time.
11. Taste popsicle.
12. Say "mmmmmm" out loud, so mommy knows you like it.
13. Wave popsicle in front of doggie, so doggie knows you like it.
14. Rub popsicle all over face while eating.
15. Rub melted juice all over chest as it drips.
16. Watch closely as drips hit the ground.
17. Drag popsicle on the ground.
18. Protest loudly, as mommy takes it away, to let her know you want it back.
19. Grab newly rinsed popsicle by stick.
20. Give mommy a lick.
21. Rub popsicle all over mommy's face.
22. Insist mommy have another lick.
23. Give doggie a lick.
24. Break popsicle in half.
25. Rub broken piece into cement.
26. Pick remainder off of ground to finish eating.
27. Protest loudly, as mommy rinses you off.

I'd Like to Get a Little Cooperation-Part 2

I try cleaning the kitchen, but he gets ahold of the dish soap and squeezes it out all over the floor. I forget that the dog food and water are still on the floor where he can get to them. He puts handfuls of dogfood in the water, making a gravy, before dumping it all over the floor. I make a note to myself that I must clean the floor at some point today. Meanwhile, I sop up the soap and the gravy.

I get a whiff of that familiar stench that reminds me it's time for another diaper change. I pick him up to carry him off, but he arches his back and I feel the unmistakable twinge of the tendonitis which plagues me. I silently and sarcastically thank him for the gift of tennis elbows (both) he's bestowed upon me. I lay him down on the changing table and he whines. He doesn't like being layed down. I place the new, clean diaper under him as I prepare to remove the dirty one. I ready myself with wipes. I never win this race, but I always try. I pull the tabs with one hand as I hold his legs up with the other. I pull the diaper away and move it to the side, quickly grabbing for the wipes and, as usual, before I make my first wipe, he's stuck his hand in it. Now I'm trying to hold his legs and wipe his hands. Ugh. Eventually, he's clean with a fresh diaper and we're good to go.

Lunch is served. He gets a 2 chicken legs and some corn, with a small serving of chocolate pudding. I feel guilty, momentarily, that I'm feeding him a frozen meal. Then the feeling's gone. I pick him up to put him in his high chair and he starts kicking his dangling legs. He thinks it's funny that I can't position his legs into the chair while he's doing this. I get him in, I ask him to sit down. He doesn't. I pull his legs from under him and he's sitting. He picks at his food and tosses one of the chicken legs to our dog. The dog wolfs it down before I can retrieve it. He fiddles with his food, eating very little, wearing most of it. At least the chocolate pudding. I turn on the television for him and he watches while he picks at his food until he falls asleep in his chair...ah, reprieve...
(to be continued)

I'd Like to Get a Little Cooperation-Part 1

Why does everything have to be a battle? All I want is a little cooperation. It starts first thing in the morning. He wakes up next to us, the same way he falls asleep at night, thrashing about. He clobbers his father and he pulls my hair. He kicks me in the face. He laughs, as we grumble. I just want to sleep for another 20 minutes. He's calling out "nook" (milk) and "weeoohs" (Wiggles). Okay, I'll get him some milk and turn on the Wiggles. Yay. 20 minutes more of blissful, twilight drifting.

Finally, I wake. I try to change his diaper, but he escapes from my grip and climbs down off the bed. The chase is on. He bonks his head on the wall that he just ran into, so now he's crying while I, opportunistically, grab him and whisk him off to the changing table. He won't lay down, so I bribe him with a pair of shoes to play with, as a distraction. Diaper off. Wiping his bottom. He's bouncing his legs and so I can't get this darned diaper fastened...hold...still...grrh..there! Finally! Now off with you.

I think I'll sneak off to check my email. No such luck. I'm spotted. He climbs under the desk and surfaces into my lap. He's banging on the keyboard. I'm outta here. Come on Max, let's eat. So, I make him breakfast. Cream of wheat. He takes a couple bites. Now he wants to experiment. "Hmmmm...what will happen if I shake this spoon full of cereal into the air?" I end up wiping cream of wheat off of everything...the high chair, Max's hair, the dogs fur, the wall. He complains as I wipe his face.

So, how about a cup of tea (for me) and a little morning news...well, it sounds better than the experience turns out to be. I have to struggle over my own cup of tea, which he keeps trying to grab from me, until it spills in my lap. Then, I have to struggle over the remote control, which he keeps trying to grab from me. He finally succeeds and throws it, forcefully, onto the tile floor. I'm amazed that it still works, considering how many hits it's taken over the past year.
(to be continued)

The Swimming Pool

When the need to swim strikes, anything will work as a swimming pool...well ALMOST anything.

The Same Little Boy

You lie sleeping, as I touch your face. My fingers trace your brow, your long lashes, the curve of your nose, your strawberry lips. Your soft, shiny hair is the color of fallen leaves and smells like baby shampoo. Your hushed sigh smells of sweet orange blossoms. Time stands still for me in this moment of grace. It's hard to believe you're the same little boy that was running around like a militant terrorist only an hour ago.

The Little Person Who Lives in My House

I spied upon the little person who lives in my house. I followed him from room to room. He marches about in his green rubber boots, shouting out "shooz!" He rushes, quite hurriedly, into the playroom and turns on the television. I sneak away to turn off the other two televisions that he's powered up and abandoned. He proceeds to push buttons until there is nothing more than loud static and abandons it as well. We cross paths in the hallway where he screaches "mommymommymommySHOOZ!!!!!!!" He pushes past me into his bedroom. He puts on a hat and grabs his toy stroller. He announces "hat!" He pushes the stroller past me again and about the house, noticing that one of the televisions he has turned on is now off. He turns it back on. He stands for a moment, in catatonic awe, staring at the screen, before continuing to push the stroller onward. He knocks the stroller over, tossing it to his left, indignant, as if he has just been insulted for the last time. He scans the room for something...not the book, not the horsey, not the dodgie, not the pirates...AHA! The bottle of milk. He picks up his bottle of milk and sucks momentarily, before heading to what used to be our dining room. He sees that the television in that room has been turned off and he turns it back on. He leans against the coffee table, watching his dvd and drinking his milk. He looks over at the coffee table and wonders what will happen if he holds his bottle of milk upside down, over it. The milk drips out slowly, one drop at a time. It doesn't take long until he has a puddle. He wonders what will happen if he smears it around. He puts a hand, which is far to large for such a small person, into the milk and smears it around the table. I blow my cover by crying out in pain, as I remove my foot from a very small plastic pig on the floor. He replies "oi" "oi."

He Looks Up at Me

When he's looking at me, I mean really looking at me, I feel so transparent. He forces me to be true and strong. He forces meaning into what had previously been just words. I measure my worth by his happiness. I am the hopeful jester, vying for his smiles, coveting his laughter. His gaze paralyzes me. That smile, it cripples me. There is a lump in my throat and joy in my heart. There are no words.

How to Handle a Temper Tantrum

The "experts" will advise you to employ techniques such as:

1. Remain Calm
2. Ignore the Tantrum
3. Avoid Trying to Reason
4. Speak Softly
5. Express Empathy

I, on the other hand, can offer you far more effective means for dealing with one of the most frustrating aspects of parenting a toddler.

1. Plug Your Ears
While, at first, this may seem immature, you will be quick to appreciate its effectiveness. An enhancement to this technique is humming. Combined, you will find these two steps create a synergistic effect. If this is still insufficient...

2. Close Your Eyes
Closing your eyes, in addition to plugging your ears, can often be misleading enough to make you think the tantrum has stopped. Do not be fooled by this. Peek every now and then before resuming full sensory intake. If your child persists with the tantrum, distract him long enough to...

3. Run Away
A closet or a bathroom works well. Don't forget that in order for this method to help, you must be very quiet. I have celebrated great successes combining these first three methods in tandem. If you have not regained your sanity by this point...

4. Give In
Hey, why fight it? After all, stress kills.

Conversations with my Son

Conversation #1
Me: "Max, do you like going for a walk with mommy?"
Max: "Yeah"
Me: "Did you like breakfast?"
Max: "Yeah"
Me: "Do you like talking to mommy?"
Max: "Yeah"
...at which point I decide to throw in a validity check...
Me: "Do you want mommy to throw away all your toys?"
Max: "Yeah"
...end of conversation...

Conversation #2
Me: "Max, mommy doesn't like it when you throw the remote on the floor. It's going to break."
Max: "Sorry"
Me: "Did you just say sorry?" (astonished)
Max: "Yeah"
Me: "Are you sorry?"
Max: "Yeah" (as he raises the remote over his head , preparing to throw it again)
...end of conversation...

Conversation #3
...a woman walks by the house, pushing a stroller...
...the dog starts barking...
Morgan (the dog): "Ruff, ruff, ruff, ruff, rufff, ruffff ruff, ruf, rufff, ruff.!"
Me: "Morgan!!!! No bark!!!!!"
Max: Ru, ru, ru, ru, ru!!"
Me: "Max!!! No bark!!!!"
...end of conversation...

"Let's give this woman a round of applause!" is what Max would have said if he had possessed the vocabulary. Instead, I got a great big smile and he did clap, quite joyously. That's what happened when, in the course of a pretty routine diaper change, I had to touch his "business." I had purchased some Huggies diaper wipes recently, instead of the Pampers I normally like and discovered that they leave a linty residue behind on my boys little bottom. Well, some of this lint was stuck to his "business" and when I went to pick it off, I was applauded. Having met with his expressed approval, I quickly taped the diaper back together, scooped him up off of the changing table and sent him on his way. But then I started thinking. And this may not be an easy thought process to follow, but bear with me for a minute. I start thinking how that was a TYPICAL male response and how funny that was. I crack myself up and laugh out loud about it, shaking my head. I think about how I'm always so careful not to make scrunched up, grossed out faces when I change his diaper because I've read that expressed displeasure, when you are changing a baby's diaper, can later impact their self esteem, particularly regarding their genitals. I also start wondering how it would feel to get a round of applause everytime we had contact with our husband's "business." Now I'm really cracking myself up. And thinking "YAH, we deserve it!" Then I start thinking about getting a round of applause for all the deserving things we do, whether it be flipping an egg without breaking the yoke or scrubbing a toilet. Not just a one man clap, but a full audience, round of applause. "Yay!!!! I did it!!! I folded the clothes!! AND...I PUT THEM AWAY! Yaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!" clapclapclapclapclap.....Then, I realize that's what I do to Max when he accomplishes something. I give him a fabulous round of applause. Now I'm thinking "gee, how strange is that!" So is he going to grow up expecting a grandiose validation for every little thing he does? Well, I won't worry about that just yet. For now, I'll continue to applaud all his accomplishments, which ARE grandiose in his mother's eyes anyway. And, apparently, I'll get my own kudos from time to time.

My son has long hair for a boy. I like it that way. He loves his hair too. He's never had a blanky or a binky or a bear for comfort. He's always had my long hair and his own. He strokes his hair while he drinks his milk (when mine's not available). He walks around with one hand in the air, softly tugging at his strawberry tusses and the other hand on his bottle. He does the same as he drifts off to sleep at night. His hair gets knotted in the back, from tossing around in his sleep. Sometimes he struts around all morning with a great, big, rat's nest at the back of his head until I have a chance to comb it out. He also likes to wipe his hands in his hair. We've had mud, soap, baby food, finger paints and cream of wheat, which dries like cement, plastered into his hair. This morning he took his piece of buttered toast and wiped it on top of his head. His hair was greasy all day. He doesn't mind if I slick it back like Guido the Italian Mobster for my own amusement. Sometimes he'll throw a hat on his head for his morning walkabout. After all, it's just an accessory for his hair. We've been through some interesting looks, like the "back-of-the-head bald spot," "the comb over" and the "first haircut." For now we'll keep it long. I like it that way.

Moments of these past few days flash inside my mind the way a strobe light pulses away in a tacky lounge. I hear my husbands words "OHMYGOD!" I see the blood pour from Max's forehead. I tear a muscle in my leg trying to get to them. I hear my baby screaming. Moments that string together the events of a day gone wrong. Our first trip to the emergency room. Watching my baby almost pass out from exhaustion in the middle of them fixing his little wound. Happy it was a clean gash. Trying to hold my composure for him. Waves of relief when he molds his small body to mine and clings tightly as we are leaving.

Maybe now we can get on with our weekend. Or maybe not. How about a cut on his toe, then a clip to his nose with more blood. Falling off a chair and a cold to top things off make our Easter weekend complete. Thank goodness for good company and good food in between events. We may consider a helmet and mittens in the future.

Today my mother taught my son how to put his foot in his mouth. I'm worried about my side of the gene pool. Nuf said.

Max has been pooping all day long. After the first poop, you think, "Glad to get that over with, now we can get on with our day." When the second poop happens, you think, "Wow, this kid's healthy!" When the third poop occurs, you think, "Hmmm, what have I been feeding you?" When the fourth poop makes it's way to your nostrils, you think, "alright, what's going on here...are you sick?" But you realize the poop looks healthy and your little poopasaurus seems to be feeling just fine. Then, when the fifth poop rears it's ugly head, you say out loud, "are you doing this on purpose???" You give a very conscious, disapproving look, as if to say, "stop all this incessant pooping!!" But you realize that you don't want to cause your small beloved to have "issues," so you quickly go back to smiling and singing happy poop songs. When that sixth poop comes into your life, you are cursing under your breath and wondering why you don't own any stock in the Pampers corporation. By now you are thinking about how you'll have to change the diaper bag from one prolific day alone. You are smearing white, zinc based paste between those cherubic little cheeks, hoping to protect them from further assaults. And you're wondering how many poops the other moms have to deal with in one day. I wonder if other kids poop all day like Max. At least it's not in his hand.

Max has a friend named Micah. Micah is happy and bright and easy going. And he is so cute. But Max can't control himself when he's around Micah. He pulls his hair, knocks him down, pulls his clothes, pinches his skin and wrestles him to the ground. He does this to no one else. And I sincerely believe that he likes Micah very much. I cannot explain this behavior. Max is not spanked and he has no exposure to aggressive behavior. Max is about 3 months higher up on the food chain than Micah and, certainly, there is a pecking order amongst toddlers, but I don't think this is explanation enough . Here is an example of the terrorism my child inflicts upon this sweet little soul:

Upon approaching a tearful Micah, looking desperately for his mommy...

Micah's mom: "What happened"?

Witnessing mom: "I don't know. The two of them were just running around together."

Micah's mom: (laughing) "Oh, you mean Max was CHASING Micah."

Me: "Yup, that sounds more like it." (shaking my head)

Witnessing mom: "No, I think they were having fun."

Me: "Sounds like MAX was having fun."

Micah's mom: "Micah probably started crying because he couldn't find me, to save him from Max." (now comforting her little guy)

In this case Max hadn't even put aggressive little hands on Micah. It was simply a case of terrorism by chasing. In the scheme of things, a manageable situation. But what about the next time? I tell Max to be nice to Micah. "Niiiiiiiiiice Micah," I say, similarly to how I teach him to handle our dogs more gently.

Max is Micah's own, personal, bully and I would really like to see little Micah put him in his place. This is the nature of toddler friendship. Their politics are rudimentary and primal, at best. Max is still, developmentally, too young for empathy. For now, all I can do is keep a close eye on their interactions and protect Micah...Max's friend.

"He's helping me," I tell myself. I pull the weeds by the root, so that they won't grow back. He pulls them from the top, disrupting the seed heads and causing them to disperse, so they'll be sure to find new homes in the soil. I fill the wheelbarrow with weeds, but before I can roll it over to the trash can to empty them, he has decided to empty them onto the ground. I pick them back up. He has found a snail. He reaches out a hand that's far too large for such a little person and before I can take it from him, he has squashed it. I guide his hand over the trashcan for an impromtu funeral. Before I can get him to the sink to wash the slime off, he licks it. I decide that little boys are gross. He leans his head down and spits the taste out, looks up at me and says "blech!" "Gross," I tell him. "Snails are not for eating." I decide the hose is closer, so I rinse off his hands. I set it down to run over and turn it back off, but by the time I do, he is wet. His hair and clothing are soaked. He's squealing gleefully. I remove the wet clothing and return to the weeds. He finds the drainage hole, removes the cap and fills it with shredded bark before dumping some more weeds out of the barrow. "He's helping me," I tell myself.