Huh?

I set out all of Grant's stuff for school the night before: the snacks, the extra clothes, the diapers labeled with his name, the lunch pail. There's one thing Bret has to do--dress the baby. But, I think I might have to take that over too. As I picked up Grant from school today, he was wearing sweat pants. The teacher actually said that he started crying on the playground (which is BEYOND abnomral), but she thinks it was because he was so hot.

Bret might be the world's best daddy, but he obviously needs a little mommy help when it comes to late summer fashion.

"That Time"

The other night, I heard Erin moaning and groaning about something in the other room. Since I'm a thoughtful husband and a good listener, I turned down the TV long enough to make sure she wasn't in the throws of death, and then I returned to "America's Got Talent" in hopes of seeing Hasselhoff finally make a pass at one of the dancers during their routine. Erin eventually made her way through the room, briefly blocking my view of the television, and entered the bathroom. The moans continued.

Then it hit me. I looked at my watch, checked my calendar in Outlook, and then took cover. It was "that time." Oy vey. How did I let this slip up on me?

You see, I've always had a somewhat unnatural fear of "that time." Sometime around 3rd or 4th grade, my grandmother, knowing that I was a lover of good fiction, purchased me a copy of Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret for Christmas. I didn't realize what I held in my hands after opening it on Christmas Eve in front of my cousins and parents. (If you're unfamiliar with this delightful coming of age tale, please click on this link for a summary.)

It didn't take long until I hit the words "belted sanitary napkin" and immediately realized that my well meaning grandmother had not given me a present for Christmas, rather an unwelcome insight into the horrors of pre-teen womanhood that no boy should experience.

My mom discreetly removed the book from my presence (I'm sure she and my dad had a good howl over its content), and I passed on further Judy Blume literature during elementary school.

Later in life, I encountered "that time" again during gym class. Apparently saying that it was "that time" was a "get out of jail" free card during swim time. I didn't understand why, but during swim class, there was always a row of girls who'd played this card and weren't being forced to tread water for 35 minutes or lock arms and do synchronized swimming routines with the dude later voted "most likely to pee in the pool."

In high school it occurred to me that many of the girls in my class were apparently somehow super human, as their cycles ticked along at a much higher rate than normal women. Many of them had "that time" four times a month, or at least it appeared so based on their lack of swimming participation.

Now that I'm married, and none the wiser, I have many useful coping mechanisms for "that time." Almost all of them involve me leaving the house and being able to deftly avoid a punch. I feel badly for Erin. It really is a curse what she goes through. The other night she commented that it's really not fair. The only reason to endure the misery is to produce biological children, and since that hasn't happened, fairness would seem to dictate that she get a free pass much like the girls during swimming in gym class.

So I guess our prayer should be, "Dear God. Erin's bakery is on fire. Again. Please either drop some bread in the basket or turn off the ovens. Thanks. Amen."

He's such a trooper

Every nurse in the whole facility had to come say goodbye. Grant obviously charmed his way into the heart of many a middle-aged woman this morning. His surgery was successful, and his adenoids were huge (the size of half an adult thumb), and he's already breathing better. He's off to sleep, and Daddy's off to get Grant some Tylenol with codeine. Mommy bought Grant a special DVD, and we'll be watching it while eating ice cream all day long. It should be a mellow afternoon.

Thanks for your prayers, friends.

Say A Prayer

Grant is having a small, common, minor surgery tomorrow, so I'm trying to remain calm and rational. But, I'm still super prayerful, and if praying is a part of your life, I'd like you to be too. Grant is having his adenoids removed at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Surgery will only take about 30 minutes, but we have to get up really early, and there is anesthesia involved. So if you have a second, please say a prayer for baby Grant. Mommy hates this kind of stuff, but I really think he's going to feel (and BREATHE!) so much better. We'll update tomorrow.

oops

We're all in recovery mode here in the Hawkins' house; the family that is sick together stays together, I guess. Until we feel like posting anything real, here's a video from a few weeks ago. Just so you know, Grant didn't even cry, but that's another blog about his "low body awareness" and the therapy we'll be starting soon.

Two Faced

Grant loves bath time, and it used to be really easy because he never got upset when bath time was over, but that's all changing. In the last few weeks, Grant has a fit when it's time to get out of the tub. Part of the reason, most likely, is the discovery of bath crayons. He's had them for a long time, but he just started taking a real liking to these soapy monsters. He'd be happy to get out of the tub, but he wants to take his crayon with him. It's hard to learn that life's not fair.

Here are some bath pics. You might be able to see some chicken scratching in the back thanks to the crayons. More importantly, the first one shows Grant's love of all things bath and water; the second pic was taken when Mommy announced it was time to get out. No worries about the soap all over Grant... that all comes off in the last rinse.

Off to Learn

Grant's first day of school was hard on... MOMMY! I cried. Hard. It's not the leaving for school part that was hard, or the my baby's growing up part, it was the "I have to be at work and can't take him to school" part that was hard.

We did get two comments from the saints (aka preschool teachers) who are in Grant's classroom. First, I guess one of them said, "Oh. My. Goodness," which Grant continued to repeat the rest of the morning. Miss Carla said she flagged down every teacher she could find and had Grant repeat it because she thought it was so cute. I like the idea that Grant can report back to me in word for word fashion every going on in preschool. Miss Carla did say that I needed to work on "something" with Grant "at home." Oh no. "Please, no biting," I thought. "No spitting; everyone hates a spitter."

Nope, Grant is a certified toy thrower. She said a lot of only children (tread carefully, please) have this issue. They aren't used to kids around them, so they just kind of flop their toys where they will. Noted. We are now working on the "I shall not throw my toys" routine at home.

A couple of key points to Grant's vocabulary. It's amazing to watch him put concepts together now. The other day, we were watching TV when there appeared a submarine. It was round and floating on the water. Grant's response with pointed finger? Bubble boat. Or, the other day, I was wearing a polka-dot skirt (I don't know if polka-dots are in fashion or not, and frankly, I don't care; the skirt's comfortable... and yes, I just did get really old with that comment). Grant has called the polka dots bubbles or balls before, but this week, he looked at those small little dots and called them "baby balls." Smarty pants. He also told me "careful, Mommy" as we went down the stairs and grabbed a book and announced "Dr. Seuss." He just started singing the chorus to Barbara Ann... now he sings... ba ba ba, ba, Barbara Ann. It's too cute.

When I asked Grant what he learned about at school, I got two answers: crickets and Jesus. It doesn't get much better.

Convicted by the Kid

A few weeks ago we discovered, somewhat to our horror, that Grant now recognizes the lovely gray and blue brick behemoth that is our local Wal-Mart. Grant wanders around the house saying, "Shopping? Shopping?" while pushing his little shopping cart, so we've convinced ourselves that we've tought our child about pushing a cart rather than outright consumerism.

This past Sunday, Erin and I made an agreement to sleep in as long as possible. Grant had been sick all weekend and therefore not sleeping, which led in turn to us not sleeping. We had also been a part of a church retreat on Saturday for the duration of the day, so we were all more than a little bit tired.

After sleeping in, having a bite of breakfast, and doing as little bathing as required by the health code, we piled into Big Whitey (our beloved Kia minivan) to grab a few groceries at Wal-Mart.

As we pulled into the parking lot Erin, always the overly proud mother, said to Grant "Where are we, Grant?" With little hesitation, Grant responded in a questioning tone, "Church?" As we walked to the front door, he repeated it several times, "Church? Church?"

Leave it to your kid to call you out on sleeping in on Sunday...

Texting

The other night Erin suggested that we needed my cousin Kate's new mailing address. Kate is a sophmore at Indiana University (ranked 14th, 19th, and 8th respectively on the Princeton Review's "Party Schools", "Lots of Beer", and "Lots of Hard Liquor" lists -- a solid collegiate choice by all accounts).

The last time we saw Kate, she made an attempt to educate my wife in the art of "texting." For whatever reason, kids under 25 no longer have the ability to speak on the telephone or even compose a thoughtful email. They now communicate in short, incoherent bursts (possibly related to the rankings mentioned above) via cell phone text messages.

I do not understand this fad. I latch onto new technologies like a tic on a dog's hide, but this one I don't get. Isn't texting a sort of regression in the communicative landscape? With all of the computers and iPhones and Palm Pilots available to kids, isn't this the electronic equivalent of passing a note during class?

In a futile attempt to understand why "all the kids are doing it" and to maintain my own hipness (a quality instantly diminshed by the use of the word "hipness") I decided that the best way to reach Kate was to send her a text message. I set about figuring out how to enter texting mode on my phone. Once I found it, I began composing my message -- one Roman alphanumeric character at a time.

"d" Uh-uh. I need a capital D. Letters...shift...capitals. There we go.

"D-D" Nope. No more caps. Letters...shift...lower case. Voila.

"D-d" Still no go. I need an "e" not a "d". Press the "D" key again to get "E". All is well.

"D-e-a-r" Oh, crap. How do I do spaces? Letters...symbols...space. There it is.

"K-a-t-e" Two more minutes of my life gone.

"H-o-w a-r-e t-h-i-n-g-s g-o-i-n-g" Where's the stupid question mark. Back under letters...symbols...spaces. Three more minutes of my life gone.

I spent approximately 40 minutes composing a thoughtful message to Kate to inquire about how college was going, whether she was keeping her grades up, and whether she could forward her mailing address to us so that we could send her pictures of our adorable son. See? I was able to type that in under 10 seconds on a REAL keyboard.

I hit send. Approximately 8 seconds later I received something akin to the following on my phone.

"uh...ok. who is this?"

Oh, yeah. I guess I need to introduce myself.

"T-h-i-s i-s y-o-u-r c-o-u-s-i-n B-r-e-t."

Another 8 seconds elapse.

"Oh, hey! Good to hear from you! How are Erin and Grant? It's been like ages since I saw you guys? Did you watch the Olympics? Wasn't that cool? Things are going great here at Hard Liquor U. My apartment is cool, and I'm doing really well in my Informatics classes. I'd love to see you guys. I'm going to Indianapolis on Saturday. Maybe I'll see you around!"

Again, this isn't a transcript, but the key here is that she did that in UNDER 10 SECONDS. I was, to say the least, moderately annoyed.

I responded with something like "Great. Now send me your freaking address before I smash this little keyboard with my bloodied thumbs."

We went back and forth like this for the next couple of hours. After 10 or so messages, it occurred to me that I don't think our "cell phones for the elderly" plan includes texting. So it probably cost me $11 to transmit an amont of information equivalent to a one minute local phone call.

In the end, dazed and confused, I sent something along the lines of "We will c u l8r" and put my thumbs to rest. I have no greater appreciation now for texting than I did before this exchange. I fully intend to purchase Kate an IBM Selectric for Christmas so that we can communicate in a way that I find more meaningful and refined.

Growing Up

Last night, after our 3 hour ENT doc appointment (with accompanying x-rays... not easy with a toddler), Bret, Grant and I headed to the Calvary Learning Academy Open House. Grant will be heading to a Mom's day out program on Thursday mornings. Our rationale is that our dear and loving son needs some social skills, and one day of week of Sunday school isn't helping his constant kissing of his peers.

So, the local Methodist church has quite a Mom's day out program, complete with a pre-preschool curriculum. We realized we were in for a whirlwind upon arrival, as every kid in the whole program swarmed around us. Grant was in toddler ecstasy. We grabbed our informational packet, filled out our health forms, dropped off our classroom supplies, and picked up our snack schedule. But then, we needed to bolt. It was chaos. Not bad chaos akin to "why would I send my kid here," but chaos of the "I'm glad the class size is limited to 10" variety. Grant sobbed. He was so upset that we had to leave all those toys and all those kids. Great first impression.

Off we went to buy Grant a lunch box--a Thomas the Train lunch box. He carried that lunch box around the house for the rest of the evening. I have a serious lunch box philosophy that comes from the absolutely lame lunches I had as a kid. My mom, who tried her single-mom hardest, was a perfect mom... except when it came to lunches. What kid has bell pepper slices, a sandwich that isn't cut in half, and an orange (not peeled, not cut into wedges.. but) cut in half? Don't get me started on the large carrot, sometimes unpeeled, complete with green stems still in place. I never got a cool Capri-Sun or even a juice box. It was white milk for me. Nothing was ever cool--much less trade-able--in my lunch.

So, Grant, don't you worry. Mommy is going to take special pride in your lunch box. While I'm committed to lunch box packing greatness, I can't believe I'm even packing a lunch for my son. He's growing up so quickly. Because we haven't had to do the whole day care scene, this little program is a great deal of firsts for us: the first "these are the people who can pick up my child" form, the first Christmas program, the "bring a blanket for nap time" request.

I'll post pictures on Thursday of Grant's first day of school. I'll by crying behind the camera, but I know Grant is going to love every minute of, what he calls, "shool."

Grace Update

There was a point when Grace seemed so close. When we started our journey to her, she seemed just a few months away. Then, she seemed so far away, years and years away. But now, the tide is turning again.


I've been thinking about Grace non-stop lately. I'm sure it's because of the Olympics and all those cute Chinese girls running around and singing. Or, maybe it's because our friends Matt and Amy just birthed a little baby named Grace, such a bundle of love. But, I like to think it's because Grace has been born, that there is some connection between mother and daughter that transcends place and time.


The reality of her birth has created a whole new wave of unexpected emotions. It's not that we are "for sure" that she's been born. Or, for that matter, that we even know who "she" is. We're just starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and with that light, comes the awareness that our daughter is going to be born without us...


And it makes me weep. I break into tears constantly. I cry at the thought that some brave woman decided to birth a baby, break the law in giving her up, all in hopes that her daughter would have a chance at a happy and a healthy life. There were a lot of other options for that woman to take, but she decided on the brave and loving path.

But, then, I cry at the thought that my daughter, my sweet baby girl, is now alone in this world. Or, I cry at the thought that she is scared and alone and in an orphanage... often left to herself... or, that when my baby cries, the woman who attends to her doesn't love her like I do, doesn't dream of bringing her home, doesn't say prayers over her from half way across the world.


In some ways, Grace seems forever away. In other ways, we know that 2009 is our year. I can't wait to bring Grace home. I can't wait to introduce Grant to his new sister. I can't wait to watch him learn to love her with his big, soft toddler heart.

As we wait these last few months, please pray for baby Grace. I am so thankful that God does not leave us alone in our distress, and I know that he is attending her heart even now.

WWW--better late than never

So, yesterday, my mom and I were driving to Kohls when my mom looked out the window and asked Grant, "What's that?" Grant responded, "Walmart." Clear as day. He was right, and I was scared. Another tad bit scary thing is that we've heard Grant calling Mommy and Daddy by the names Erin and Bret. Kind of freaky.

Grant's alphabet is coming along. His favorite letters right now: B, I, N, G, O... but not in that order. He still likes "couning" (counting) as he says it, and he now counts up to 7, but he usually needs help with the number 4. Go figure.

Here's a little of Elmo's song that Grant would like to sing for you. The words (at least according to Grant): la, la, la Elmo's song.

I'm a garage sale junkie

It's true. I love garage sales. I don't think I have ever purchased Grant a new toy, and I don't think I've spent--in his lifetime--over 35 dollars (I'm not kidding) on new clothes and shoes for Grant. It's not that I don't want Grant to look cute or to have fun stuff, but it is because I don't think stuff matters, especially toys and clothes. And, I have other goals for that money: like college for Grant, paying off our house, and such. And, let's be honest, Grant looks cute in a dirty diaper, so I don't think he's hurting. I know there will come a day when we have to fight over designer shoes, but I'm not going to start that fight until I have to do so. So, until then, it's two dollar tricycles for Grant.

State Fair 08

I'm big on traditions. And, to be honest, the reason I think I'm so big on traditions is because I work with a high schoolers. As I talk to my students about their memories, about what's important to them, about what they remember about growing up, the traditions of their families and their cultures are what surface. And in a contemporary culture that values the "here and now," fame and financial success above all else, I find traditions to be all the more valuable for their ability to "ground me."

We've got lots of traditions in the Hawkins' home, and now with Grant, our list of traditions continues to grow.

One such tradition is our annual trek to the Indiana State Fair. I love the state fair. I love it because it is so classically Hoosier. The California State Fair is like DisneyWorld by comparison, but I like the small town charm of the Indiana version. I like that there is a huge brick building that has the word "SWINE" in stone letters. I love that the largest pumpkin contest is high on the list of "things to do today" at the fair. I love that you can register for a fishing license right on premises. It's so Indiana.

Last year with Grant was fun, but this year, it was a toddler wonderland. On the way to the fair, he must have said, "cows, sheeps, horsey" 500 times, and the fair did not disappoint. While we didn't have time for the world's largest pig, Grant did get to see baby cows and goats, ride a few rides, eat kettle corn, and play on some tractors. It was glorious.

Here are some pics.

Daddy's trick and WWW Thursday edition

I think Bret has been giving Grant pointers on how to "ignore" Mommy all under the guise of being very interested in the moving pictures on the screen.

My favorite of Grant's words this week: Thomas, James and Percy. Grant is taking after his cousin Aidan because Grant is in love with all things train. This is good news since I've decided to decorate Grant's big boy room (coming this January) in trains (recently bought this decal for the wall). I'm not going to go overboard: this decal, a garage sale rug I bought for 5 bucks and some Thomas the Train sheets for a Christmas present.



Other new words: church. When asked, "Who do we learn about at church?" Grant responds, "Jesus." Melts my heart. Then he responds, "people." That too, I guess. He says every body part, now including tongue, elbow, knee, and just today I heard, "I did it." He can't throw a ball or run with any real skill, but the boy can talk it up.

Wash Me

Last night Erin suggested that it was time to clean out our minivan.

"Oh, and you think I'm brilliant and have movie star quality good looks. Very funny."

"No, really. We should start tonight and finish this weekend."

After checking both her forehead for fever and my shoes for signs of hell going arctic, I enthusiastically agreed with her. Car cleanliness, the bane of many marriages, has always been somewhat of an issue for us.

When we were dating (the timeline of which is also a source of great debate) Erin drove a lovely green Toyota Camry. It was an automatic with a sunroof, 6 cylinder engine, CD changer, and a variety of soups and cracker combinations in the backseat that would make the Golden Corral jealous.

Pair this with a wide selection of slightly moldy Tupperware products, a few empty beverage containers, and a half eaten bag of Golden Grahams, and you get a picture of Erin's Camry. I tried to clean it once, and something under the seats bit me and growled.

In all fairness, Erin does a remarkable job of keeping our house and child clean. Very rarely does Grant smell more foul than his father, so I applaud her efforts. But somewhere in our genetic makeup, women just don't feel a need to keep their cars clean. Our minivan is no exception.

As we dumped the various toys and used-to-be books out of the backseat, we began to notice a multitude of stains on the floormats. A little juice here, a little mac and cheese there. We decided to actually remove Grant's carseat for the sake of completeness, underneath which we found approximately two pounds of partially masticated cookies and crackers.

(In Grant's world, crackers are called cookies most of the time. This is an effort on Erin's part to convince Grant that a Ritz or Saltine is the best tasting cookie-like object on the planet. When she does give him a cookie, I believe she calls it "sugar coated crack.")

There were also remnants of McDonald's ice cream cones and a few socks under Grant's car seat. By this time, Grant was running around our driveway in merely a diaper, so we paused until the weekend. I'm hoping to find an iPod or something I can take on the Antiques Roadshow when we return to the task.

Dancin' Fool

I don't think much explaination is needed.

Finger Lickin' Good

I don't want to hear about raw eggs or anything of the sort. I grew up licking the beaters, and until we have a hospitalization or two... so will my kids.

TV time and WWW

I swear: Grant doesn't watch that much TV. But by the videos below, you might start to question that truth. He loves his dds (dvds), and his favorite thing to do is to carry around an empty dvd case. He'll tell you all about the pictures a thousand times a day. For example, he was carrying around an empty Wiggles dvd case today, and when I asked him about all the character's pictures on the back, he knew them. I died... more mortified than happy.

Here's a video where Grant plays "Name that Tune." He's not too happy with Mommy's singing, as every time I open my mouth, I get a big "NO" from Grant. He's identifying: the Wiggles, Elmo, Bob (the tomato from Veggie Tales) and Boz (that Giant Green Singing Bear).

Here's a video where Grant identifies the characters in his book (Elmo, Zoe, Cookie Monster (which in Grant speak is cous-cous, like the Mediterranean dish, Oscar and Bird [Big Bird]). Notice his favorite toy in his hand: an empty dvd case.

As far as Grant's language skills, they just continue to explode. It is not uncommon to hear any and every word come out of his mouth. We are no longer shocked. He repeats everything (which I don't think counts as "knowing" a word), but then a few days later, he's using the word all on his own. Crazy ones I heard this week: airplane, fox, bubbles, Jesus and Noah (I think he thinks they are the same person?), violin (don't ask... we have a magnet of a violin on our fridge... which Grant pronounces v-lynn), and octopus (pronounced: o-pus). He talks CONSTANTLY, which Bret says he gets from me. I say that it's genetics. I can't wait to see Grant's birthmom again, so she can let us know about Grant's two biological sisters and whether or not they were jabber-jaws.

If the straightjacket fits...

OK, enough with the cutesy Grant crap. Let's get back to discussing his defective parental units. This blog is beginning to edge away from "man, those people are warped...but entertaining" to "awwwww...more pictures of their cute kid burping up lunch...that was funny at first..."

So Erin has had a theory for a long time now that I've got a little of the autism in me. (That's how you say it when you've got a medical defect here in Indiana. "I've got the autism." You might similarly say "I've got the cancer" or "I've got a bit of the fever" as though there's one strain of each disease stalking around our state like the headless horseman.)

Erin based this theory on a number of observations. First off, she worked one summer at an autism camp, and as she told me stories about her autistic campers, a couple of things occurred. For starters, she frequently found herself saying "Wow...that seems just like something you'd do" and secondly, I frequently found myself saying "Wow...I would totally go for that."

For example, she noted that her autistic campers frequently "flipped out" (for lack of an appropriate term) when things strayed from within the boundaries of how things are "supposed" to behave. I suffer from similar freak outs. If Erin leaves me to babysit Grant and tells me she'll be home at 7pm, when she arrives at 8pm with some story about having to stop for gas or be stranded on the highway, she will usually be telling it to me while I sit in the middle of the family room floor, head between my knees, rocking back and forth while mumbling the lyrics to "Paint It Black."

Another example is that we've often heard autistic kids talk of wanting to be placed inside a "squeezing machine" that puts pressure on their sides. If one of these costs less than a small family sedan, you now know what you can get me for Christmas.

I've often watched Erin wrap Grant up in a "baby cocoon" and wished something similar (outside the "nut house") existed for adults. Nothing sounds better to me than sleeping while wrapped up like a mummy. I might even be up for sleeping in a coffin if I could have one delivered without the neighbors seeing it left on the doorstep.

So last night Erin, partly in jest and partly because she wants documentation before having me committed, took a king sized sheet and wrapped me up like she used to wrap Grant up. It was heavenly. She propped my head up on a pillow, and I watched the second half of the Colts game in sheer, 200 thread count ecstasy.

Unfortunately Erin fell asleep during the 4th, and my forehead began to itch. Major bummer not having arms or hands at this point. I also still had my glasses on, which wasn't conducive to going to sleep. A few minutes later, my dessert beer began a-callin' which led to some pretty ugly scenarios. Suddenly my "man-coon" wasn't such a great idea.

I managed to fling my glasses off my forehead and go to sleep unaided. At about 2am, I woke up with my bladder threatening to secede from the union, and my body temperature was approximately 108 degrees. I was suddenly swaddled in hell's blanket. I managed to get free and sprint for the toilet, narrowly avoiding being made to wear a "man diaper" to bed the next evening.

I keep life interesting...right, hon?

To Die For Cute

All Boy

Grant doesn't "mother" his stuffed animals. Sure, he gives them hugs from time to time, but he usually yanks them by the face and throws them as far as he can. He's a boy.

In this same regard, Grant knows the names of his body parts (head, nose, eyes, toes), even his boy parts. We have never called them by some alternate, cutsie name; we've always just called "it" by its scientific name.

Grant can now call it by name as well, but in his pre-polished speech, it doesn't come out quite right. So, instead of calling it by its official moniker, he pronounces it as "pieces," which I guess also applies.

Talking Fool

Here's Grant on our way out on vacation. He talks non-stop and repeats himself constantly. In addition, my new favorite thing he does is when you ask him (what do you want?), he'll look around and go "um" like he is really sizing up his options. If you listen closely, you'll catch it.

Snorin' Man

Here's a video from our vacation of Grant "sleeping." You need to turn the volume up full throttle to get the idea of how bad it is. While seeing the doctor yesterday for his 18 month check up, we decided that Grant should go see an ENT doc, just to make sure everything is okay. He has had issues breathing since birth (the hour after his birth, the nurses called doctors down because they were concerned about his breathing). So, we'll see.

Grant weighed in at 26 pounds (50th percentile) and was 33.5 inches long (85th percentile), and his head was in the 90th percentile. Long, skinny with a big head... and utterly adorable.

More videos to come.

Back Home

Here are some pics from our vacation! We had so much fun just hanging out with Grant away from cell phones and emails all week.

Bret, who has to leave for work during the days, was really excited to see Mr. Personality in action. It's hard when he only gets weekends and evenings to really see how much Grant is growing and changing.

Of course, Grant kept us entertained with all his antics, including serious poops in the pool. A lot of his new words deal with the pool: pool, swim, rope, jump, buoy. He also says "ready" all the time (which he says and then proceeds to stand by the door), and thanks to a dvd (which he pronounces dd) left by some very smart mother and found by Grant in the condo, he says "bop" all the time (which refers to those blasted Canadian doodlebops). Bops is not to be confused with Bob, which is the name of the tomato on Veggie Tales. He likes and says both of them equally.

He also starting calling Grandpa, PaPoo, which I don't quite get. He calls Grandma, Na Na, and he's got a mangled version of Mamaw and Papaw too.

In the end, I was right about that campy Dixie Stampede. Grant loved it. I have never, ever seen him that excited and engrossed. It was worth every penny... and having to eat with my hands just to see him so thrilled.






We've got some really cute vids from the week; I'll try to get those up soon.

Packing In

So here we are on our last full day in Branson. I'm happy to report that we've had a couple of good meals courtesy of Landry's and the Outback (a local restaurant that was supposedly the inspiration for the chain). We've enjoyed the Titanic museum and Shanghai acrobats, and Grant got to ride some more amusement park rides at a little kiddy amusement park. All in all, a good time has been had.

Tonight we are venturing out to the Dixie Stampede. Erin is convinced that Grant will find this highly entertaining. We shall see.

Once we get back to Indy, we'll post a more complete report. In the mean time, I'm off to the pool with Grant. Later!

Branson Monday

First off, I'm sorry that I don't have any pictures to post. As with many resorts, the Internet connection here consists of a single cable modem for approximately 5000 people, so it's dog slow. When we return to reality, we'll post some pictures.

Yesterday was hot. I mean REALLY hot. Heat index put us well over 100. So what do you do when the pavement is slowly melting the Goodyear's off your minivan? You go to an amusement park!

For whatever reason, we decided that Monday was the day to visit Celebration City. It was a lot of fun. Grant got to ride his first merry-go-round and ferris wheel. I was fine on the merry-go-round, despite my disdain for all things equine. The ferris wheel left me shaky. I'm okay with roller coasters at this point, but being suspended at a height at low speed doesn't do much for me. (Erin will assuredly post that I quivered like a little girl. So be it.)

Today we're taking it easy and planning to see the New Shanghai Circus this afternoon. Chinese acrobats won the "what show should we see first" battle. I've been lobbying to see this Shoji character that is so heavily advertised down here. I figure with all these World War II vets down here enjoying their retirements, a Japanese guy on stage with only a violin for protection has to be entertaining.

Branson Part 1

Branson has proven, thus far, to be an interesting experience. In some ways, it's not at all what I expected. In other ways, it's exactly what I expected.

First off, our accomodations are generally very nice. The condo is plenty large, and features a very nice kitchen. In other ways, this place is in dire need of updating. They have a putt-putt course which was built probably 10 years ago and hasn't been touched since. They've got VCRs in all the rooms, but not DVD players. I went to the front desk to "reserve" a DVD player, and they gave me one with the caveat that "the remote was lost." That makes selecting "Play Movie" on the DVD rather tricky. All in all though, the resort has been fine.

I did have to chuckle when I visited the resort "activities center." It was chock full of middle school kids whose parents were off attending the timeshare sales pitch. They were miserable. Luckily they had all bonded together to play various card games. I overheard one kid ask about "Nintendos or other games." He was pointed to a checkerboard and a deck of cards. Another asked about videos and was handed a list of VCR tapes. "There's nothing too recent on the list." No kidding. Another kid inquired about playing the game "Operation." The attendent (i.e. babysitter) offered it to him, but the batteries were dead. "Do you have new batteries?" Noooope. Note to self: Never, ever do this to Grant.

Mornings have been spent at the pool, given that it's been in the 90's every day so far. Grant has mastered jumping off the side into the water, and I hear that last night he managed to master pooping in the pool. The swim diaper prevented us from being escorted from the grounds.

Our only struggle at the moment is finding that memorable restaurant for the trip. Last night we ate at a steakhouse which was very mediocre. This morning we had breakfast which featured more hair than food. I'm doing some research as I type this, and hopefully tonight will be more successful.

I guess the thing I'm most surprised by is the fact that Branson truly is about the shows. There's no big walking district like Gatlinburg, and it's been too hot to really want to be outside. Therefore tonight we may venture out to one of the shows. I'll keep you posted...

Vacationing

Sometimes I lose a battle in our house. I know this is hard to believe, but it's true. Sometimes the loss has a bigger impact than others. A few weeks ago, such a travesty occurred.

We were discussing where to take a "do-over" vacation following our debacle in Key West. Several places were on the list, but we wanted to follow two primary rules. First, the place had to be within driving distance. The second was that it needed to be relatively cheap, given the amount we spent at Taco Bell and the hospital in Key West.

In the end, Erin won this battle, and I now find myself sitting in Branson, MO.

"But you're not over the age of 80" you say. Agreed.
"And country music really isn't your bag" you say. True, true.
"And you don't drive a Buick or carry your own oxygen" you say. Again, all true.

But the fact is that Branson is in the Ozarks, and it is near a very large lake. And it is cheap, and it does have lots of restaurants. And it does have a wide assortment of fake Elvis's and "Jamboree" style shows featuring men dressed as women, all staples of the vacationing experience for me.

I'll keep you posted on how the week progresses. I heard they're giving away handicapped parking tags in the lobby tonight. Gotta get me one of those...

P.S. To my grandparents who dearly love Branson, please take no offense. I'm sure we're going to have a wonderful time, and we look forward to sharing our pictures with you when we return...

Hmmm

Grant just tried to put one of those plastic pronged outlet cover thingys in my nose. He wasn't joking. I'm sure he thought: "I have a two pronged plastic device, and she has two holes right there in her nose. Maybe if I stick this in there, she'll stop kissing me all the time."

And...

I told you my favorite words, but Grant's favorite words for the week are Elmo (Al-mo) and hold which he says all day as he points to everything.

Sprinkler Fun and WWW 3

Grant had his first sprinkler experience a few weeks ago (I've got to convert video now that we have a different camera, so videos are slow in the making), and I think the jury is still out. We have a pool in our neighborhood, but since Grant naps for three hours in the middle of the day, we haven't found time to visit. I'll make sure I grab some video of Grant in the kiddie pool; I hope he's less hesitant than he was with the sprinkler. In his defense, though, the water was freezing!


Here's another sprinkler incident. The zoo (we have a year pass) put in a new sprinkler park. I think it is supposed to be used when really hot outside, not at 10am in the morning on a mild day. Go figure. Grant loved walking around, but when the cold, cold water came out, it wasn't his favorite.


And now, for Wonder Word Wednesday. It's so hard to narrow the field to my favorites because every new word is so cute! It's amazing to me watch Grant pick up language every day; it's mind-blowing to think about his little sponge brain.

So, this week: see ya (which he says after saying good bye); there you go (which he says when asked to put something back in its place); go dog (which he says when he hands you the book Go, Dogs, Go.); bite (just imagine Mommy eating a cookie); read (which English teacher Mommy loves).

But my favorite is when you ask Grant to count: One (which he pronounces "n-one"), six, eight. The same works for ABCs: A, M, O, Z. Too cute!

We're off tomorrow on a Key West make-up vacation. We'll be posting throughout the week, so stay tuned.

The Knot is Tied

A big congratulations to our dear friends Micah and Carter on their recent wedding. We met the couple when Bret and I helped out at their pre-marital retreat at church, and they are so special. We are so psyched for them. Check out their blog here, and if you have time, check out their wedding pictures. They're my favorite (really, of all time!). We love you guys!

Carter and Micah: Let's get together ASAP!

It was fun until...

Bret and I tried our first camping trip as a married couple this weekend. That's right; we have yet to attempt the outdoor living experience. Bret's not a big camper, as his idea of roughing it is a Super 8. With that said, we plopped the kid at Grandma and Grandpa's house and head out with some friends from church to Kickapoo State Park in Illinois. With plans for a long canoe trip on Saturday and plenty of smores thrown in for good measure, we were excited.

And all was good, even through the violent thunderstorms that lasted for hours through the early hours of morning... We were good until after breakfast when, plauged by some "get me out drizzling rain" stomach bug, Bret got sick. And sick again. And sick again. Last time Bret went to camp, in the fifth grade, he had a similar issue, but that time, at least a handful of chili dogs were involved.

So, we packed up (in the pouring rain) a day early and headed home. As it turns out, the rest of our friends were not far behind as there was so much rain that flash flood warnings were issued for the state park.

We'll try again in the fall. If that trip doesn't go as planned, I think our tent might show up for sale at the next garage sale.

Mine

That's right. Grant has learned the dreaded word known the toddler world over. I thought it would come with siblings or daycare, but no, Grant has learned it, uses it, and uses it emphatically.

Grant does not like to be told something is... in fact... not his. He throws a royal conniption. Needless to say, it's been a long morning of retrieving from his grasp things that are not his. Hard lesson, a lesson complete with tears, theatrics and full blown wailing. Got to learn the lesson some time.

WWW 2

Welcome back for another installment of Wonder Word Wednesday!

This week, my favorite of Grant's words or sounds include: tick tock (which he says while pointing at the clock), eyes and nose (which he likes to point to ON ME when I'm trying to get him TO SLEEP, and moon. I also love his "what does a rabbit (or kangaroo) do": he says "hop, hop, hop," but his jumping doesn't leave the ground (it's more the bended knee version of a jump). He also says "boo" for a ghost, and just this morning he said, "juice, please."

But the greatest of all is his word "boz." Now, I know you're thinking that you're not familiar with this word. Well, let me help. Boz is a green bear that lives inside the DVD player and sings and dances from time to time. Well, Grant stands at the DVD player and says "Boz" 50,000 times a day. Most of the time, I have to tell him "no, not right now," which leads to all kinds of tears and objections.

So, there you have it. The life and speech of an 18 month old.

Pee-Yew

For the past couple of years, we've had a brood of rabbits living under our deck. (I don't know the official term for a collection of rabbits. A pack? A flock? A harem?) The rabbits haven't really caused me any concern, other than the bare patch they've chewed into my otherwise crap-tacular lawn. But at a recent neighborhood block party, a couple of my neighbors swore under their breath at me regarding the slow destruction of their backyard gardens at the hands (paws?) of my furry footed friends.

So last week I purchased a product that claimed to repel rabbits, raccoons, and various other sorts of small vermin. It came in a spray bottle of the sort that might contain window cleaner or countertop disinfectant.

After mowing the lawn, I quickly read the directions which indicated that you merely spray the perimeter of the area where the small animals have been congregating, taking special care to soak any areas where they feed.

I also took note of the fact that the product claimed to be "all natural" and would not harm pets or Grants. This pleased me greatly, as I don't need Grant growing a set of horns or an extra leg because I used a toxic rabit repellant on the yard.

I began spraying the area around our deck, carefully soaking the bare spots in the grass where the rabbits chose to lunch. Things were going very smoothly, and I was pleased that the product was so easy to use. Since the product was not toxic, I was not paying much attention to whether it was getting onto my hands or clothing. I also decided that since it wasn't toxic, more product around the deck would be better than less, so I sprayed until my hand cramped from squeezing the trigger.

Just as I began to consider heading in for an iced tea and a shower, I began to notice a rather foul stench. As I began to investigate the source, the stench became unbearable. Literally, I was having trouble containing my lunch as I tried to figure out what I had done wrong.

I grabbed the bottle and began reading the fine print. As it turns out, the reason this product apparently is effective is because it is designed to smell like the urine of various animals large enough to eat rabbits and raccoons. At this point, I noted that I was somewhat soaked in the product. It was on my hands and arms, as well as my shorts.

Nearly overcome, I dropped the bottle and ran inside to strip down for a shower. Unfortunately, I carried the pee perfume indoors with me. I ran into Erin as I went upstairs, and before I could even explain, she began gagging uncontrollably. It was awful. The more time that passed, the more I smelled like the product of a moose on a bender.

Luckily I was able to get rid of the smell with a shower, and the product no longer smells after drying on the lawn. But the sheer memory of the smell made Erin and I somewhat ill for the rest of the night.

I haven't told Erin yet, but you're supposed to apply the product once a week for the first few weeks. I'm not sure I can bear it.

Busy. Weekend. Now. Tired.

Whew!! That was a weekend.

I took one picture and one video on the actual fourth of July (bad mom! bad mom!). The video is when my mom stopped by to give Grant the most precious (and annoying) toy ever: the duck that does the chicken dance. Here's a short clip of Grant's new favorite toy.



The picture: Grant eating a cookie in the car. Riveting, I know.

But, the weekend only got crazier. We had a huge family reunion down in Bedford on Saturday in honor of Bret's uncle's 80th birthday. I thought there might be about 30 people there, but the place was packed. I don't know a 150 people to call my family (or maybe even my friends), but Bret's uncle Vic had people flying and driving in from all over the country. It was a special time. Grant loved seeing everyone! Here are a few pictures: Grant with his grandfather (Bret's dad who is called Papaw) Grant with his cousin Kate But, the fun was just starting. On Sunday, as part of my dad's birthday present, Bret, Grant and I took my mom and dad to a baseball game. The Indianapolis Indians, our minor league team in town, are fun to watch, and Sports Illustrated even decided that our ballpark is the #1 minor league park in the nation. We had great seats, and Grant loved watching people, eating ice cream and popcorn, and wandering around like a drunken man (he's still so unsteady when he walks; Bret says it looks like he's "had a few."). The game went into extra innings, but we left with one tired baby at the top of the ninth.

Here are some pics from Grant's first baseball game (it was free visor day when you get to that pic). Congrats are also in order to our friends Matt and Amy Tenney who welcomed baby Grace into the world! Baby Grace was early and her delivery was not without complications, but she and Mom are both troopers, and we are so grateful that she's here. Bret and I will visit the Tenney family in the NICU tonight. Here's their blog if interested.

New Tradition

In hopes that I can do a better job of chronicling the life of Grant, I'm going to start Wonder Word Wednesday (www). Each Wednesday, I'll try to post a little something funny Grant has said or new words or sounds he's mastering. It's more for my sake than yours, but if you're interested, you can follow along at home.

July 2: He thumps his chest to act like a gorilla, strums imaginary strings when asked to play the guitar, and says "come on" to everyone, everywhere. He's also mastered the word outside (said: ow-sigh) as he stands at the back sliding glass door.

One phrase he has not mastered but Mommy has is the phrase "hit and run." That's right: this morning I was victim to a classic hit and run. I got hit pretty hard (about 40 mph or so), but I'm doing okay (except for some real neck stiffness). The cops said it was unlikely to catch the guy without a license number, so if anyone sees a gold Lexus with a hood that looks like an accordian trolling the streets of NW Indianapolis, please give me a call.

Teething!

Grant has three new teeth, and he's got a big one coming in any day. His gums are swollen, and they have turned black and blue. I read a book that said teething doesn't hurt kids, but when I look at those gums, I beg to differ.

Busy Weekend

The summer whirlwind is in full effect these days, and this weekend was no exception.

On Friday night, we took a trip out to the latest in family fun entertainment in central Indiana -- the Indiana Live Casino. This has been touted as being "just like Vegas" but I have a sneaking suspicion that no casino in Vegas has ever opened in a pole barn until the real casino is built.

We had family from California visiting, and the casino did provide for a couple of hours of entertainment, mostly watching my mother-in-law shuffle nickels and pennies into a slot machine and then squeal like they were $50's when she'd win $2 or $3.

I did take note of the fact that there were an inordinate number of people wheeling their oxygen tanks behind them throughout the casino. As if watching people toss their pension away one slot pull at a time isn't nerve wracking enough, waiting for the place to blow when Gramps decides it's time for a Camel with an oxygen chaser left me feeling strangely unsettled.

Having gotten our fill of Vegas in a cornfield, we moved across the street to Indiana Downs to blow more cash on the ponies. I will say that I generally enjoy watching the horses more than I do the slot machines. I can sit outside in the cool summer breeze, beer in hand, breathing in the horse-pucky-scented air. It's delightful. My father-in-law was the big winner of the night, hitting a $35 jackpot on the final race. Enjoy those six free gallons of gas, Dave!

On Sunday we ventured to Nashville, Indiana. If you've ever had a hankering for a scented candle or a sculpture made out of leftover car parts, Nashville might just be your place. Grant relished the opportunity to show off his recently acquired walking skills all over town. Once he got tired, he would stick his arms out and request to be airlifted out of having to walk any further by saying, "Up up!" It must be nice to immediately have at least four people clamoring to relieve your stress by simply saying, "Up up!" I repeatedly informed everyone that I too was tired but got shunned like a fat kid when picking teams. Such is life...

Congrats

Our friends Tony and Jennie just welcomed baby Oscar into the world! They got Grant this little outfit for Grant's homecoming, so we'll have to find something of similar insult.


Click here for their blog.

Explosion

We're in the middle of a full blown language explosion over here. Grant is language crazy! I have a beautiful scrapbook that chronicled the first year of Grant's life, and I had hoped to keep it up for a record of things like expanding vocabulary. But, life is busy, so, for now, this blog will have act as some sort of baby book.

Grant talks constantly, and it is starting to get easier and easier to understand him. At first, I thought he was just repeating words. I'd say zebra, he'd repeat it, but I didn't think he fully understood. But now, he's starting to use those repeated words all on his own.

Just today, Grant (at the zoo) walked up to a group of daycamp kids waving, and he said, "Hi, guys." I about died at the cuteness. He does the same thing with everything. "Hi, Dad." "Hi, ducks." "Hi, zebra."

But, it doesn't stop there. I thought I might try to chronicle his words, but there are just too many: zip, all done, shoe, milk, amen, truck, car, Grant (which he pronounces Nant)... it just keeps going.

And he knows every sound I can think of: snake, owl, dog, lion, chicken, truck (beep beep), etc, but three of my new favorites include frog, train and santa claus (ho ho ho). He also pulls his tongue in and out to imitate a lizard.

It's just amazing to watch and to listen to Grant become a boy. It melts my heart to hear his little voice make meaning.

The Life of a Mother

I knew it would happen eventually. Every mother warns you that it will happen, so it didn't quite sneak up on me, but still the same, it marked a moment in time when you realize what exactly being Mommy to Grant means.

The other night, Grant did something he never had done prior. He pooped in the tub. Bret was watching Grant play as I put away clothes, and I heard Bret squeal. Upon my hasty return to the tub, I saw several "pieces" floating in the tub. Bret's exact words at this moment: "I'm out of here."

I couldn't keep Grant in the tub, but I couldn't trust him to stand by, dripping wet, as I cleaned out and disinfected the tub. So, I moved him to the tub in the master bedroom, put some warm water in it, ordered Bret to stand watch, and I returned to Grant's bathroom to clean. Not fun.

But as luck would have it, I heard another squeal. Grant decided to do another "big job" in the second tub.

It was a long night: another parenting hurdle crossed.

Ouch

I jumped out of bed this morning with a list of projects for the day. I put in my contacts, threw on some clothes, and walked into the office where our computer hums quietly day and night.

As I walked in, I noticed that the computer wasn't really humming. It was more or less groaning, much as one might do if they'd eaten some bad tuna. GRRR...grrr...GRRRR...grr... Erin noted that it had been doing this for a while, so I decided that it would become my first chore of the day to repair my poor PC.

After dragging the thing out from under the desk, disconnecting the mere 75 cables attached to it, and opening it up, I discovered the offending fan that was going out. It wasn't a particularly necessary component, so I disconnected it. I also decided to clean the rest of the box out, removing several years of dust.

I was seated on the floor of the office with the computer open in front of me. At one point, I reached across the machine and tried to pull up on a component on the far side. As I did this, I had what felt like a bolt of lightning shoot across the small of my back. I yelled (some might say, "Screamed like a small child") and fell over on my side and then my back. I lay there moaning, at which point Erin came running up the stairs.

When she arrived, she immediately looked disappointed. "I thought you'd cut your arm off or been electrocuted."

Sorry to disappoint you, dear. Immobilization isn't enough to warrant my cries?

I've had back problems for the last 15 years, but today was something special. It took me an hour to get off the floor of the office. I couldn't sit up, I couldn't stand, I couldn't move. At one point there was discussion of implementing a "pee jar."

Luckily, after a fist full of medication, I was able to move myself over the course of 10 minutes into my recliner in the bedroom. A couple of hours passed, and I was able to slowly walk around the house and do basic things. I told Erin, and this is no exaggeration, that other than the pain I experienced when I broke my arm in the infamous horseback riding incident, the first fifteen minutes this morning was the most excruciating pain I'd ever been in.

To make matters worse, the doctor keeps telling me to strengthen my "core" to make these episodes less likely. Apparently "strengthen," in medical terms, does not mean "fill to capacity frequently," which is more or less how I treat my "core." Erin angrily informed me this afternoon that I needed to start getting in shape. Alas, I think she may be right. I'd better eat like I just escaped from prison tonight...

Friendly Little Dude

Grant might not win the most athletic award in high school. Or the best looking (though I don't see why not). Or the most likely to succeed. But, I am going all in with this bet: the boy will win the "friendliest" award. Hands down.

He says "hi" to everything and everyone. At the park, every child gets a personal greeting. His toys, the same. The mailbox as we're walking. The butterfly that flies by. Even last night as I put on his pjs: "What's that?" asked Grant. I replied, "Those are your pajamas, sweetheart." "Hi," stammered Grant. He's on a friendly basis with his night clothes.

This kid is super social, and he's going to teach his introverted parents a great deal.

New Blog Addition

The Taylor family has decided to get it in gear and start a blog! Yeah! After their recent addition of baby Brakston into the family, I've been waiting and waiting and waiting, and now, I can stalk them everyday to see if there are any new photos of Brakston! Grant and Brakston are going to be great friends (and cousins) as they grow up, so it's exciting to be connected (even if it's cyber connected). Click here for their blog.

Six Great Years

Bret and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary tonight. Our actual anniversary was on Sunday, but with Father's Day and all that jazz, we opted for a mid-week night out. We went to Mama Carollas, a local Italian eatery and then to the Illinois Food Emporium for dessert (which was the place that "catered" (if you came to our wedding, you know why "catered" is in quotation marks) the desserts for our wedding). It was a great evening.

But even better than the evening have been the last six years. There have been some hard times, some sad times, some angry times, but more than anything, there have been great times. Bret and I were talking tonight about how blessed we feel to have each other. Our marriage has been a wonderful gift.

Now, off to make him watch the video of our wedding.

Back in the Saddle Again

Well, we're finally back from jet-setting (read: sheer exhaustion) around the United States, and Grant is successfully back on East Coast time. He's sleeping like a champ, eating even better, and loving being back among his toys. Today, we ventured out to the park and to the library, and after lunch, he was asking to go to bed. He's sacked out as I type this.

I'm almost caught up on emails, and I am tackling the chores that have lay dormant for a month now. I've got notes to write, bathrooms to clean, and this afternoon's task of cleaning the carpets. Summer fun.

Our California trip, while exhausting in some regards, was loads of fun, and Grant loved hanging out with family. We cannot thank our family members enough for loving us through their hospitality.

I cannot even begin to express how much Grant has changed in the last few weeks. He mimics every word and every sound (Daddy is on strict orders to think before he speaks); he's toddling everywhere, and he has grasped (finally!) the concept of "no-no" (which he says back to me while wagging a finger). What he can say is slowly growing, but it is very clear that he understands a great deal more than he can verbalize. Bret and I have taken to spelling certain words, and Grant responds to entire sentence commands: "Grant, pick up the rollercat toy and take it to your Grandpa." I feel like he is (sadly in some ways) out of the baby stage and on to full-fledged boyhood.

Here are some pics from our trip:

The stuffed toy I WON GRANT!! There's something sweet about winning against young children.

Our Reno family: my sister Deanna and nieces Ashley and Samantha


Grandma HAD to bring that boat all the way from Indiana, so after finding refuge in Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Richard's pool (after being kicked out of another one), we blew it up for Grant to enjoy.









Uncle Richard and Aunt Bonnie!!
Grant's great Grandmother.

I can put that whole thing in my mouth; I just know it!
Grant's cousins (kid heaven for Grant). Check out their blogs: Holdridge and Ramones. Cousin Brady was already snoozing.
Here's cousin Brady! Boys!
Cousin Christina knows the way to Grant's heart: Elmo.
Give me that fondue you're eating, Mommy. My mom and I ended the trip with a great evening strolling Santana Row in San Jose. We ate at a French restaurant called Left Bank. I had fondue because I have a slight addiction to all things cheese.

Piano Lesson

I took piano lessons as a kid from second grade through my freshman year of high school. With such a long term commitment to a single instrument, one would think I would be a moderately proficient piano player. Instead, it's merely a chance to be embarrased every time someone says, "Oh, you took piano lessons for 7 years, you must be able to play --insert song I can't play here --." I can't even play Christmas carols well. That little Zuzu chick on "It's A Wonderful Life" looks like Beethoven next to me. I can't hold a candle to Liberace (snarf snarf).

Anyway, the point is that none of this was the fault of my two fine instructors. The first was a family friend who bailed out in disgust around fifth grade, and the second was an elderly lady named Myrta Tilson. Both possessed excellent piano teaching skills, but they had a student who would sooner spend time wishing he knew how to play the piano than actually practice playing the thing.

In an effort to keep me interested, my first teacher actually allowed me to play Duran Duran sheet music rather than her standard repertoire of classical pieces. (Remember, this was 1982. Duran Duran was so rad.) If you're sitting there thinking, "Hmmm...'Hungry Like the Wolf' doesn't contain a piano part that I can remember," you'd be correct. It was horrific. It was like playing "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" on a pedal steel guitar. Awful.

Anyway, Ms. Tilson was slightly less prone to bending to my desires to play New Wave hits on her piano. She was an excellent pianist in her own right, and she had other people lined up to be her student, so my inability to commit to practicing irritated her beyond belief. In the end, I quit taking piano lessons from her, although I did mow her grass and trim her shrubs occasionally, as a sort of apology for being such a crap student.

The point of all of this is that I did some research this week and found out that Ms. Tilson now lives in an assisted care facility here in town, and apparently she's still playing the piano with gusto. I'm going to make an effort to go see her soon, in an effort to learn more about her and appease my guilty conscience over wasting so many hour long sessions with her over the years. (Although she did still get paid, so perhaps I should apologize to my parents for having them pay for Ms. Tilson's hour long Marlboro break for 5 years...oh well...)

Sleeping with Grant

Since night one in our home, Grant has slept in his crib. It's just the path we decided on, and he seemed to acclimate just fine.

This vacation, because we are staying with family and are cribless, I've been sleeping in the same bed with Grant. With the bed pushed against the wall and my body acting as a barrier, little Grant has been tossing and turning next to Mommy.

A couple of observations for his future wife:
1. He snores like mad. We've known this for some time, as we can hear him snore from our bedroom down the hall, but when you're sleeping in the same room--much less the same bed--it's deafening. I remember listening to my Grandpa snore through the wall when staying the night. Grandpa is one thing. My 16 month old... well, it just ain't right.

2. He's a spooner. I wrap him up. I place him against the far wall. I put pillows between his body and mine. Give it 10 minutes max; he's got his face in my neck. Snoring. Or he's got his back pressed up against my back. Or he's got his arm thrown over my eyes. This kid wants to be close, and he'll roll the width of queen size bed to make sure of it.

3. Somehow, even though he weighs just 25 lbs and I weigh... well a bit more than that, Grant owns the bed. He easily takes up 3/4 of the bed, and I'm left hanging off the side. I don't get it.

4. He's Houdini. Really. I wrapped him up tonight in a sheet, the classic burrito fold. My thinking was that when he fell asleep, I could leave without fear of him getting out or rolling off the bed. Ha. Not only could he get out (which he has done several times on this trip), but he is not opposed to using his teeth. Smart cookie. Scary, smart cookie.

More on our travels later.

Never Say Never

I don't want to make some declaration that I later have to rescind, but as of right now, I am never, ever, ever going to take a child on a cross country plane trip without his or her own seat. Ever. Thank goodness Grandma was there because Grant was A LOT of work. Plus, when he decided to gag himself (as he does when he's trying to help the teething process), he spit up all over Grandma. We hadn't taken off from Denver yet. Ouch.

After a quick trip to Reno, NV to visit with my sister and family, we are now sitting pretty in Elk Grove, CA. We went swimming at Grandma's pool today, but that only lasted 15 minutes or so because we were informed that children who are not potty trained are not allowed to swim in the pool, special diapers or not. I almost said he was potty trained. Almost.

So far, aside from family, the highlight of the trip was our stay at Circus Circus in Reno. There was an extensive midway and serious circus acts. I won Grant a giraffe on the camel races, and he thought the midway (and the trapeze artist) was the greatest thing on earth.

We're going to stay mellow here in Sacramento for a bit. Relaxation time. Plus, I play cards with my grandparents all day. I'm going to take them for some cash. I mean, at a dollar a game, it does add up.

We love you and miss you, Daddy!

Slow Posts

So let's see, we went to Key West, Grant was sick, we came home, then what?

Grant healed. As of Monday night, there was virtually no trace of the previous week's illness. His mad walking skills were progressing quickly, as he hurriedly rushed between objects in our living room. It was good to see the little dude back in action.

On Tuesday, Grant, Erin, and the Grandma headed for the west coast to bless those members of our family who still choose not to live in Indiana with a visit from Grant. We hope they enjoy his presence. We bill by the hour.

On Tuesday night, yours truly began quickly dismantling the dash to my Sonata in an effort to replace the no-longer-working CD player. This was one of those "why don't you wait and do that while I'm out in California projects" which means that Erin doesn't want to wait in the ER.

I managed to perform this task without doing the following:

a) breaking any portion of the dash
b) breaking the new stereo
c) dripping hot solder on any fleshy parts

My only error in judgment was that I needed to punch a hole for the iPod connector in the back of the plastic tray that the new stereo fit into. Rather than approach this like a sane person (or better yet, an engineer), I decided to just poke a hole with my soldering iron and burn outward until it was large enough for my iPod connector.

I'm fairly certain I will be unable to get the stench of burnt plastic out of my clothes or lungs any time soon. And I think my right eye is starting to droop. You can start divying my stuff up as soon as you like.