Birthday, at Last

Keane is almost fourteen months now, and I still haven’t covered his birthday! It was pretty identical to the one the dink had when he turned one—at Maman and Papa’s house with both his grandparents and his favorite cousins there. But if I compare the way that the two boys acted at their first birthday parties, it really shows (at least to me) their differences. I feel bad already for Keane because he is always measured in the way that he compares to his brother, but that is only because it’s the only point of reference I have. And we actually do the same for the dink now, only in hindsight. For example, I now know that the dink has had an inordinate thirst for milk and juice throughout his toddlerhood, and I realize that because his brother drinks half of what he did at the same age!

But back to the party. The dink’s main interest at his first birthday was crawling around chasing balloons. We could have, and probably should have, only gotten him a sack of balloons as presents because he had virtually no interest in each of the age-appropriate toys that were passed in front of him. Until the dink was 18 months old, I held the honest belief that all baby toys are unworthwhile and stupid because babies don’t actually learn how to play with toys until they’re toddlers. But turns out it was just my baby. Because K enjoyed the heck out of all of D’s infant toys that got no use the first time around. He actually shook rattles and held soft animals and even swung his arms at bright objects dangled above his head. And so he took an interest in all of his birthday gifts—just about the only things he can call his own. So that was the first notable thing to me at the party. The second notable thing to me is that my mom and Jon’s mom have a habit of buying the boys the same gifts. For D, it was the exact same little green four-wheeler for Christmas one year. Then at K’s baptism, they both gave him religious-themed nightlights. And for this birthday, a multi-leveled racetrack/garage for cars. Same brand and everything—just in different sizes. I don’t like to have to tell the grandparents what to buy the kids all the time, but I think at some point, I may have to make them at least run it by me for approval first!

The third and most notable thing at Keane’s birthday party was his genuine, enthusiastic, and absolutely precious enjoyment of being the center of attention. He’s doing so well with his talking, and he was actually trying to say “cheese” and giving out grin after grin at each camera that flashed at him. I had so many just perfect snapshots of him cheesing it up with his party hat on, opening presents and trying his cake…but unfortunately my camera freaked out some time after the party and spontaneously deleted all of those photos and others. But it’s a memory I’ll always keep. A really remarkable one to me when I reflect over baby K’s first year, and how unhappy and trying he was as an infant, and how I actually prayed that the first year would fly by so we could get out of the never-ending, fussy-baby period and finally arrive at the days of smiling, walking, playing, sleeping, and mutually enjoying each other and our lives. But I realized as K played nicely for his audience at the party and smiled accordingly, that we actually have finally arrived. (And each week since his party we have been arriving a little bit more.) So while I thank God for the first year of a life that he trusted me with, I also thank him for the possibility of a second, much easier one.  

Christmas

Still trying to catch up on my laziness over the past couple months. Seems like Christmas should be worth recounting, but as I'm sitting here at the end of January mulling it over, I'm having a hard time even remembering the memorable... Of course presents abounded. And of course the dink wanted every single item for himself that Santa Claus had given to Baby Keane. (Luckily, Santa Claus had some foresight and brought Keane things that were much too old for his age like a basketball, a stool, and a movie, since after all he has all of Declan's old toys already to play with and still only wants the item that Declan is occupied with at the moment.)

Anticipation was a major component of this year's excitement. Starting the week after Thanksgiving, daycare craft and music activities centered on reindeer, Santa, and baby Jesus. By the end of December, the dink could sing all of Jingle Bells, Frosty the Snowman, and Rudolph from start to finish, if not with the exact correct lyrics, with dead-on vim and vigor. Although I got tired some days of the dink asking me if tomorrow is Christmas and begging/crying to open a present already, I do think the waiting is good for a kid. And it also gave me a chance to plant the seeds of excitement in his mind for the gifts that were sure to come. (Gosh, D, your slippers are too small! Maybe Santa will bring you some new ones...) Naturally, I shopped my heart out for most of December, pleased with my efforts in buying the dink both things that he could use or would serve a purpose, as well as things he'd enjoy. In the final weeks leading up to the 25th, people were continually asking the dink what he wanted for Christmas, and his consistent response was of course something I hadn't even considered purchasing: a robot. But he told anyone who would listen that that's what he wanted, and when he sat on Santa's side at the mall and told him too that all he desired for Christmas was a robot, I knew I had more work to do. And needless to say, his lime green Radio Shack robot that my mom ended up finding at the mall was his favorite Christmas present. I just found out last night that  the darn thing already needs new batteries.

Keane was just happy for Christmas to be spending time with his family, in the middle of chaos and excitement. His most prized possession was a gift he didn't receive, but one we gave to his cousin Ellie--some wooden pots and pans. He spent an hour on Christmas Eve just putting the lid on the pot and off. I didn't feel too bad for not realizing the poor kid was dying to play cook because it gave me an idea for a gift for his birthday, only a week after Christmas. So Keane got a remarkably similar set to Ellie's for his first birthday, which of course he's hardly played with since.

And me, I got a new job for Christmas, complete with a two-week paid trip to Sweden for my initiation. That's coming up in only a few days now. With a start like this to the new year, I can't imagine what adventures 2012 will bring.

Two Chickens

Just for fun!

Declan, Halloween 2009:

Keane, Halloween 2011:

Catch-up

I don't know where I've been, neglecting to record the excitement and the cuteness of November and December! I've been making a real attempt to savor the moments, reminding myself in every frazzled event that one day the dink won't pronounce "l" like "w" and baby K won't stick his hand down the front of my shirt at every opportunity, and even more likely, I will actually get eight hours of sleep in a row sometime in the future...so I need to soak it up now.

So what's been happening? In November, the dink turned three, an event that we probably told him was upcoming way too far in advance because the anticipation nearly killed him, singing Happy Birthday to himself before bed at night for weeks. Halloween was a great distraction leading up to the big event, a night that probably ranked as "best day ever" for the dink, since he got to dress up in his cousin (hero) Caden's old Mickey Mouse costume and chase after Caden trick-or-treating all night. He was so intense about keeping up that he didn't even fuss once about his costume--actually kept the ears on his head and enormous white mittens on his hands all night while he jogged behind the big boys with his little plastic pumpkin. I don't think he even asked for a piece of candy until the next day!

And of course cousin Caden was an integral audience member in D's birthday celebration when it finally rolled around. We incorporated Declan's birthday into a Saints-watching and chili-eating Sunday afternoon with just a family crowd, which is all it takes to thrill the dink. I think his favorite presents were a bag of old Legos given to him by Samuel and Caden (and a box of new ones) and his very own baseball bat and tee, given to him by Papa and Maman. He also loved his little blue piggy bank that his Nana and Pop got him, although, like the Legos, he is only allowed to play with when baby Keane is asleep or otherwise distantly occupied for fear that he'll ingest any dimes or little plastic men.

We finished out November with a trip to Nana and Pop's for Thanksgiving, where we visited with the Nashville Womacks. On one of the nights there, we were supposed to have a get-together with Jon's cousins and their five kids who  the dink has met in the past but doesn't necessarily remember. Still...he was looking forward to the event. Unfortunately, he woke up from his nap sick that day, ran a high fever for a few hours and threw up all over the porch (and my lap). So our visit with the crew that night was reduced to a quick rendez-vous in the front yard, for just long enough for us to say hello, exchange a few gifts, and blow kisses goodbye. At some point when they all arrived, we told Declan he couldn't get up close to the visitors because he was sick, and it just broke his heart. His tears poured and he was just crying "I want to see my cousins." He ended up being held by Pop on the outskirts of the crew, and that ended up being okay. But it cracked me up how desperate he was to see anyone that might be labeled family--whether he knows them, recognized them, or not. Sometimes I wish that Jon and I had more siblings, especially that lived near, so that D could grow up like I did, with fourteen "cousins" to play with at every birthday party, Father's Day crawfish boil, or Easter egg hunt... But at least I think I can count on him always making the most out of what he has. He's pretty good for that.

Confusion

A three-year-old mind is a hard thing to grasp. Or maybe I should say that a three-year-old mind has a hard time grasping. The dink's a mess lately trying to get several important concepts straight:

1. Birthdays are for celebrating when you came OUT of Mommy's tummy, a place to which you never, ever return. Leading up to D's birthday, he kept telling me with concern in his eyes and fear in his voice, "I don't want to go back in Mommy's tummy," as if I were threatening to whisk him away from his home and family at any given point and absorb him back into my abdominal prison. I kept reassuring him that I would never, ever do that. And I guess he finally believed me because weeks later, following his party, he started at it again, but this time with a different request and a much jollier tune: "I want to go back in Mommy's tummy! Because then the doctor can pull me out and I can grow and grow and grow and have another birthday!!!" Sigh.

2. We don't eat our poo-poo. Gross, right? And it's not like he's ever tried, but the subject came up one day while the dink was sitting on Mommy and Daddy's potty (his favorite place to poop) and thinking deep thoughts. He has a habit of making these random statements to me, with a slight lift in his voice at the end of the sentence, not like he's asking a full-blown question, but like he's attempting to state a fact and gauging my acceptance of it as true or false. This time it was "Mom, sometimes we eat our poo-poo." Of course my reply was at peak shriek and decibel level. "Declan, we never ever ever eat our poo-poo! That would make us very sick. And it's really, really yucky." It's possible that I even spit on the floor in disgust. And as usual when he makes an absurd statement like that, I asked him who told him that we eat our poo-poo. His response was matter-of-fact: Daddy. Oh really, I asked him. Yes, he confirmed. Declan, I said, I think I might give Dad a call at work right now to ask him about that. The response this time was less bold: tears. He then begged me not to call Dad, but still never clarified who had told him such a thing. Takeaways from the incident: The dink is clearly capable of lying and blaming things on other people in their absence, even his poor dad. But on a brighter note, he most certainly will never discuss the possibility of eating one's poo-poo again.

3. Not everything that one desires can be easily gotten by Mom "at the store." I realize that this three-year-old misgiving is mostly my own fault. He asks for something we don't have (bubblebath), and it's inexpensive and innocuous enough that I tell him I'll have to pick up some at the store. Usually it's a food item that we're simply out of--apples, goldfish, Cheerios--and when it reappears in the pantry or fridge, he always confirms with me: "Mom, you got more Cheerios at the store?" Lately the concept has expanded, though. He's asking me to go to the store to get him things like a shirt with a car on it, a Transformer that turns on, and a never-ending treat supply of ice cream, fruit snacks, and "orange Coke." The madness must stop! So now we're having these awkward discussions about the fact that even though most things he wants can be purchased at the store, Mom is not going to go to the store to buy them. Luckily, he hasn't started asking "why?" at the punctuation of each statement I make, so he's still taking my word as gospel.

4. For reasons that are very difficult to explain, we do not play the banana-fana game with Jesus's name. We just don't. 

Crash

I experienced a parenting low last week. I keep telling myself that it could have happened to anyone, but as Jon put it so astutely after coming home and seeing the damage: “I cannot fathom how you possibly managed to do that…” It was possibly a unique event.

The gas light came on as I was driving to work in the morning. I could have gotten gas on my lunch break, but I didn’t because I couldn’t find a gas station that honored fuelperks. See, I just signed up for fuelperks at Winn Dixie, with a renewed enthusiasm to start shopping there again, and managed to rack up $0.50 a gallon in two weeks (we needed every single item, I promise). So I decided to wait to get gas on my way to daycare, where I knew I passed a fuelperks station…but turns out that one is on the wrong side of the road in the middle of private school traffic (all cars, no buses—one really long line on the street), so I made the executive decision that I could handle stopping for gas with the dink and baby K in the car on the way home.

Stay-at-home moms are probably appalled at my lack of ability to manage two children while performing a mindless routine task such as gas pumping. So let me first declare that I do actually accomplish many things (outside of childrearing) while solely supervising the duo. But this is the thing: when you’re away from your little ones all morning, the first hour you’re together in the afternoon is super-charged. They’re excited, needy, whiny, hungry, and both energetic after taking a nap (D) and deliriously wired after not taking a nap (K). In general, Keane cries the whole way home from daycare because he’s offended that I’m not holding him while traveling, and continues with the frustration, hanging on my leg, while I rush inside, get my breast milk in the fridge, fix Declan some juice, change clothes, go to the bathroom, get Declan his snack of the day, change 1-2 poopy diapers that happened while I was changing clothes, turn on Sesame Street, and…finally sit on the couch and let Keane nurse awhile until we’re all finally relaxed, comfortable, at home, together again. Aah.

But back to the gas station. Even though K was crying in the car, I pulled into the station advertising fuelperks near our house. Got out, frantically trying to read signage at the pump about how to claim your fuelperks. The dink immediately becomes impatient, begging me to get out of the car and “help,” and when I tell him no, he begins howling at peak decibel levels. I can’t figure out the stupid fuelperks thing, become incensed that the dink is acting so ridiculously, decide to abandon the situation completely, throw a hope into the universe that we won’t run out of gas on the way home, and jump back in the car, slam the door, as start scolding D about his behavior as I pull away from the pump…into one of those stupid, short, concrete little poles. But the noise level is so high in the car that I don’t hear it at first, scraping alongside my driver door. By the time the crunching noise registers in my head, the pole has moved on to the dink’s door.

Yes, I eventually realize that I am single-handedly inflicting $4,000 worth of damage on my vehicle with an immobile object. And in my frenzied attempt to drive away from the gosh-darn pole, I manage to reintroduce the object into the side of my car, moving back, then forward, then back…until finally three men come to rescue me from my absurdity. Two physically push the car away from the pole while the third hovers over me at the wheel, making sure I “Cut it hard, hard!” And alas, I was free.

My “Aah” moment was much delayed that day, needless to say. But the all-time low I experienced in the aftermath of the incident was really not about the car, it was more about my state of mind when dealing with the boys. It’s one thing for me to sometimes pull into the parking lot at work at 7 a.m. and not remember driving there only moments before, but it’s another thing all together for me to let my frustration at their cries render me blind to ordinary driving obstacles, when they’re right there in the car with me. A scary realization, and a lesson learned: fuelperks is not worth it. Damn you, Winn Dixie.

Mommy

 I know I've said before that the Dink is a sensitive one, but lately this aspect of his personality has really bloomed. Especially about his mommy (can't help but smile). He's getting more cuddly and like a real person in his affections (less like a busy toddler who finds things like hugs overly restraining). When he wakes up in the morning, he grabs his doggy lovey and heads straight for either my bed where he can get in and snuggle with dad, or for the couch, where he can cover himself with a blanket and lay his head on pillows while enjoying his juice and Cheerios. Of course, ten minutes later, he's usually on the floor doing the hot-dog dance with Mickey Mouse. But there's at least that initial period of morning snuggles that is so good.

The mommy thing is nearing extreme, though. It's usually inspired by seeing pairs of animals, cartoon characters, inanimate objects, you name it, where the dink can use his imagination to distinguish one as a child and one as a mommy. Upon inspiration, he uses this kind of whiny, isn't-that-so-cute, so-sweet-i-wanna-cry tone of voice and says "Aww, he's got his mommy." And he drags out the word mommy into two or three syllables. Many times, he'll hug me spontaneously and while patting my shoulder say, "I got my mommmmmmy." To which I'm supposed to respond "I've got my (insert kitty, Bob the Builder, lion...whatever I'm instructed by the dink to call him that day)". His favorite time to do this is after his bath. I use all of my body strength to pick him up out of the tub, towel ready on my chest, and wrap him up and dry him off as he hugs my neck and practically wipes a tear from his eye as he squeaks "I got my mommy!"

The other night, after a weekend full of play outside in the backyard, J discovered 2-3 splinters in the dink's hand. Naturally, this discovery took place while I was in the shower, and J couldn't wait until I got out to take a needle to the dink's poor little hand and pry them out. I was toweling off in the bedroom when the dink walks in, completely red, wet-faced and shaking, looking for a hug. J tells me that, though he was brave, the dink cried hysterically throughout the process, repeating "I want my mommy!" the whole time. So I gave him a good hug, and he got a Mickey Mouse band-aid, and was feeling better quickly, though still a little shaky. I offered to read him his bed-time books, which included a favorite, Are You My Mother? I snuggled close to the dink on the couch, with our pillows and blankets, and read slowly. When we get to the part where the baby bird starts crying and yells "I want my mother!", the dink stops me from turning the page, puts his finger on the baby bird's scrunched up face, his tears from earlier starting to pour again as he looks at me and says "He...wants...his...mommmmmmmmmy."

Oh, dink. I love you, too.        

Jokester

The dink made his first joke recently. Admittedly, it was a little blasphemous, but J and I cracked up for a good 4-5 minutes anyway.

Dink's at that age where he repeats, and even more scary, remembers just about everything you say. And even if he doesn't quite get all the syllables right in your choice phrase, no matter, because he can somehow pick up the exact context of when to use the phrase, so when he repeats it in public at just the right awkward moment, you can be sure everyone will know what he meant to say. Not that I'm trash talking around him. But having him around repeating my every exasperated expression lately is making me realize that there is always room to improve...

 Anyway, we were in the car, on the way home from mass one Sunday, when something prompted the dink to exclaim "Oh my gosh!" Which prompted me to suggest to the dink that instead of saying that entire expression, how about we just say "Oh my!" and leave it at that. Which prompted J to suggest another alternative expression, slightly more off-color than the original: "Hey D, how about you say Holy Cow!"? And of course the dink cracked up at that. So J took it further: what about Holy Mackerel!? The dink laughed even harder. And then, reaching deep into his short-term memory for inspiration, he delivered his first punchline: "Holy Ketchup!" 

J and I just kept giggling, looking at each other with wild, surprised eyes that our little baby boy was capable of such sophisticated thinking. Daddy, who loves delivering his own original, self-crafted punchlines more than just about anything in life, was proudest. I had stop laughing a moment early, though, to reflect on my failed attempt to instill a higher moral standard in the language of my family. But oh well; it was pretty damn funny.

Lookalikes

People are constantly telling me how much the dink and baby K look alike, especially the people who knew the dink as an infant, like daycare workers and friends. I've always agreed in their lookalikeness. Right after K was born, I told my family that when I looked at him for the first time, I had the strange sensation that I'd had the same baby twice. But that soon changed. After time, after you've stared at your child intently for so long that you've memorized every single aspect of its face, you start to only look at the eyes. You scan over the blueberry stains on their lips and peanut butter in their hair and ever-present bruises on their legs and focus on reading into what each and every look of theirs is communicating. And that's where my two boys differ.

They're both sensitive, I'll give them that. But for D, his sensitivity is almost tactile. When you fuss at him, it doesn't just hurt his feelings, it physically hurts his ears. He responds to almost all of my admonitions with a pitiful "Don't yell at me, Mommy!" And his eyes, pained. Deep down, or maybe not that deep but beyond the surface for sure (i.e. not always in line with his actions) he just wants to be perfect--to do the right thing, have the right answer, to please and to respond in a way that meets or exceeds everyone's expectations. I supposed he's a "classic" first born.

But K isn't as concerned with what people think. (This is the kid who cried for four months straight, after all.) The other day, a nice lady in Sam's was trying to make K smile, and after 8-9 attempts, just when I thought (prayed) that he was finally on the verge of giving this poor lady at least a grin, he started crying right in her face. Even though he had been giggling his head off at my antics only moments earlier. K is quite selective in the people he wants to please. But still sensitive. He loves to be caressed and cuddled like nobody's business. Early on in daycare, two of his teachers told me in their own ways that they had discovered that baby K went to sleep easier when he was snuggled up super, super close, and even allowed to place his hand in someone's cleavage. And he's not growing out of it. When we were at the beach recently, I realized that his eyes would roll back in his head in pleasure every time I gently rubbed the sunscreen into his face and scalp.

And at the tender age of 8 months, he's learned what it means when Mommy says "no"; his eyes are so tender at the sound of my firm voice. I remember taking D to his 9 month doc appointment, and Dr. W. asking me his series of questions to gauge the dink's developmental milestones. One question was "Does he understand when you tell him no?" And I laughed to myself at the time. What in the world would I have to tell him no about? He didn't get into the trash (Keane), didn't put random objects his mouth (Keane), and didn't crawl up the shower curtain and pull it back to let water spray all over the bathroom every time I took a shower (Keane). At the time, I truly couldn't fathom ever fussing at baby dink. But poor K--he's been hearing no for months now. And finally responding. Not only does he stop what he's doing in his tracks, but he startles, looks at me with his intense blue eyes not like he's hurt that I would fuss at him, but like he can't believe he got caught. I have to admit, my hands feel pretty full right now. I hesitate a bit for when my cup runneth over...