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.