10 Things You Should Ask Your Mother

In celebration of Mother's Day, CNN ran a story today listing the top ten questions every person should ask their mother now. I found the story mildly interesting and decided that I would offer up what I think my mom would answer. (I could actually ask her the questions and let her provide the answers, but I suspect she'd answer most of them with a slightly confused look and a "Yeah!?" or "Just a sec, let me ask your dad" which provides little entertainment.) Let's proceed.

1. What's the one thing you would have done differently as a mom?

I suspect my mom would say that she would have placed some of her sock money in Breyer's stocks. She bought enough "mint chocolate chip" to fill in the Grand Canyon while I was living at home. At least she could have gotten something back (up until the past year, anyway).

2. Why did you choose to be with my father?

"Just a sec, let me ask your dad..."

My mom is not a pinnacle of decisiveness. My dad provides their relationship with a great deal of balance in this regard. My mom can't individually decide which side of bed to crawl out of in the morning, so it's good that she has dad to consult. If only he could hear her...

3. In what ways do you think I'm like you? And not like you?

I think my mom would say that I picked up some of her indecisiveness, so it's good that I have Erin to balance that out. I think she might point out that she has a complete lack of gluttony, so who knows where that came from. (When my diabetic tremor starts, and I reach for my third piece of chocolate cake, I'll always think of my dad saddling a box of Christmas cookies while watching the History Channel.)

4. Which one of us kids did you like the best?

Duh.

5. Is there anything you have always wanted to tell me but never have?

I don't have any interest in worrying about NEW horrors of history. I feature enough genetic anomalies as it is, therefore I shall avoid asking this question.

6. Do you think it's easier or harder to be a mother now than when you were raising our family?

My sister and I were pretty easy kids to raise, so she probably would say it was easier back then. She only had to drive me 40 miles round trip to choir practice three times a week, so she really had it pretty easy on the whole.

7. Is there anything you regret not having asked your parents?

Sheesh...both of my mother's parents are still alive, so if she has regrets in this regard, she needs to give them a call. This question makes it sound like my mother must be at least 80 years old, and I'm fairly certain she's at LEAST five years shy of this.

In reality, my dear mom asks everyone she encounters the same basic questions:

"Did you know they have gas for $1.96 at the Speedway on Meridian?" or

"Do you have a coupon for $1 off ground chuck at Meijer? It was in section C on page 5 of the Sunday paper." or

"Did you see that the price of milk has gone up by $.06 this week? Better stock up! We have a Democrat in office!"

8. What's the best thing I can do for you right now?

"Point me to your bathroom" is probably a likely candidate.

9. Is there anything that you wish had been different between us -- or that you would still like to change?

I would hope that my mom would think very carefully before answering this question. It could have a strong bearing on when and where she goes when assisted living is necessary. It's her call. She can either be sitting under a flickering 40 watt lightbulb watching "Gunsmoke" reruns into eternity, or she can be sipping a smoothie in a leather recliner, waiting for the charter bus to take her on a day trip to go shopping. These next few years will be decisive.

10. When did you realize you were no longer a child?

This is a dumb question. Who ever thinks about this? For me, this moment was about 30 seconds before "I do"...just as a little bit of sweat (or maybe it was pee) ran down my leg. I suspect my mom entered adulthood far more gracefully, but who knows?

In any case, happy Mother's Day, Mom! Your cheese log is in the mail.

A Whopper of a Temptation

Tonight, Satan took me up on the mountain for my temptation, and this time, it came with a side of fries.

On our way to go shopping tonight, Erin and I decided that we couldn't wait until after buying the week's groceries to eat dinner (as that might cause our stomachs to growl for at least 30 minutes...unacceptable), so we stopped at Burger King (my choice) for a healthy and delicious meal.

When we eat fast food, Erin inevitably asks questions like "Are the tomatoes grown locally?" or "Can I get that with some of the mustard on the top bun and some of it on the side?" These questions usually garner a blank stare and occasionally reveal that the individual taking our order actually speaks no English beyond "cheeseburger," "fries," and "Sorry dude, I don't have insurance."

So tonight at Burger King, she requested that her Whopper come with no onions or mayo, simple requests. Upon receiving our order, I began devouring my sandwich when Erin opened hers to find no onion and globs of mayo, despite being correctly marked "No Mayo" on the wrapper. Frequently in these situations, Erin just sucks it up and eats her food, not wishing to have a confrontation with a vacant high school student (at least not on her weekends). But tonight, she did NOT want mayo, so she headed rightfully back to the counter.

As I watched the exchange occur between Erin and the individual behind the counter, I noticed her sandwich sitting there, lonely, on the counter. I silently prayed to myself, "God, please let that lonely, discarded Whopper make it into the trashcan or an employee's dinner. Whatever you do, Lord, don't let Erin bring it back with her."

Just as I saw the employee hand Erin her new sandwich, I noticed Erin also pickup the old one. As she walked back, I was about half finished with my original Whopper. She threw her first Whopper on the table in front of me and began eating her new and improved, no mayo sandwich.

I finished up my sandwich and stared longingly at the extra Whopper on the table. I had finished my fries and sandwich, and I was actually pretty much full, but the Whopper looked so forlorn, laying there already unwrapped on the table, like an uninvited guest at the party.

Eventually I told Erin, "You know, I've always said I could eat two Whoppers."

"No way" she replied.

"Oh sure I could. Watch me."

And with that, I began the 2nd Whopper.

Almost immediately, I began to feel my dinner building up in the top of my stomach as though trying to climb out of my throat with a rope ladder. I would have tried to push the food down manually, but I was too busy trying to regain the feeling in my left arm.

I slowly finished Whopper #2 and let out an exclamation, letting our fellow Burger King patrons know how proud I was of my achievement. I waited for Erin to congratulate me in astonishment. She was astonished alright, but all she could say was "You're gross."

As I type this, there is a small army of Tums the size of a toy poodle keeping my Whopper's at bay. I shudder to think of what will happen when I go to bed later, or even worse, the bathroom.

Hard News

As of last night, we were scheduled to get Grace in June or July. We have been planning, prepping, making packing lists, checking in to visas, and most importantly, trying to prep Grant.

But, then, this morning, bad news hit. Thanks to the swine flu, China is halting international adoptions until the scare ends. SARS halted adoptions for five months, which, should the current scare follow the same path, would have us getting Grace in September or October.

We're trying to have perspective, to recognize that God has a plan and a time (and a specific baby girl), but right now, today, it's just hard. We're bummed. It looks like it might take over four years of "pregnancy" to bring Gracie home. I think people think it must be easy to wait, as we're not physically pregnant, but there is no end to our love for Gracie, and we have loved her, just as we would a bio baby, from the moment we knew she was a reality. This isn't easy for us, but we believe that our good God will deliver us a good gift in Gracie Hawkins, and she will be the child we were meant to raise.

Bret just thinks that God is sparing me the really hot temps that July would have offered. I think God just wants me to have to endure several more months with that blasted personal trainer.

Either way, Grace will sure be a sight for sore eyes when she comes.

Action Figures

Grant has a Moses action figure. I have no idea why, or where he got it. He's smiling, has flowing gray hair, a staff and two stone tablets containing, presumably, the Ten Commandments.

Grant enjoys playing with Moses in tandem with Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story, and let me tell you, those stone tablets are no match for Buzz's ability to fly. Buzz frequently introduces himself, gives his signature "To infinity and beyond!" and then tramples over Moses during takeoff. Poor Moses.

You know you're a mother when... Part 2

You catch vomit in your hand... because it's easier to catch it than clean it up. The croup continues!

Memories...

This morning, Grant looked at me and asked, "Daddy, when I was younger, did we go to Disney World?"

"Yes, Grant. That was about three weeks ago."

Croup... again

You know you're a mother when your child coughs so hard (thank you, croup) that he vomits all over himself (four different times), his carseat, and the minivan, and here's the kicker: you're not phased. At all. You pull into the am/pm, take some towels, clean up the vomit, undress the boy down to his Buzz Lightyear undies, put him back in half dressed (only had an extra pair of pants), buy a super big gulp cup (39 cent rip off) should he need to vomit again, and continue on your merry way. I've crossed the threshold (especially after fecal foot matter incident), and these kind of things are just the everyday part of life.

After confirmation from the doctor this morning, Grant has a bad case of croup (worse than last time), and he had to have a steroid shot in hopes of reducing airway swelling. If it doesn't work in 12 hours, we're off to the ER for some special breathing treatment. Right now, he's resting peacefully thanks to some cough suppressant with codeine. Better living through chemistry, people.

Please pray for our little guy because the doctor put him on strict bed rest (yeah, right; he's two), so we're taking in lots and lots of Thomas the Tank Engine today.

15 seconds with Grant

I took a picture a second, and this is what transpired:

He wears his emotions on his sleeves, eh?

It's Me, It's Me, It's...

As some of our faithful readers may have noticed, all of our blog posts over the past few years have been signed simply "side of fries." That's because I was simply too lazy to create my own account when I hijacked Erin's family-friendly blog and turned it into the den of debauchery that you see before you now.

But have no fear, I have now rectified that situation. I have created my own account, so now you will see each post signed as "bret" or "erin" to denote its authorship. I have done this primarily to save Erin the professional embarrassment associated with me using words like "fart," "poop," "penis," and "giggle" on a regular basis in my posts. (Now that I read it, shouldn't that be a new cartoon character someplace? Mr. Fartpoop Penisgiggle? I like it.)

Anyway, I hope you'll continue to enjoy reading our blog, and that you won't use this new distinction to filter out all posts written by yours truly.

One Good Thing; One Bad Thing

I realize that these Grant posts are only interesting to a few, as they are neither insightful nor funny, but we keep this blog as more of a baby journal, so... enough said.

Good thing: Potty training is a hit!
It took about a week in total, but Grant is completely potty trained (even through the night). After the first day, we had one terrible (almost made Mommy cry... okay, did make Mommy cry) accident that led to him (too much information is about to follow) smearing fecal matter around our kitchen with his feet. Yes, his feet. (As a side note, I was a second away from cutting the offending clothes off of him and throwing them away.) But, then, it's been smooth sailing. Really, really smooth sailing. Well, until today when I picked Grant up at school, and Grant's teacher informed me that the school might have to get new drywall after she tried to get Grant to stand to pee. He normally sits, but she didn't think his aim was much better while sitting, so she thought she'd try the standing approach. Urine soaked after a minute, she regretted her decision. I think Starbucks gift cards are in order for that saint of a teacher.

Bad thing: First real fall
Today has been gorgeous. We've been cooped up with unseasonably cold temps, so when the sunshine and nice temps made an appearance today, Grant and I headed for the neighborhood park. I encouraged Grant to try this ladder thingy, a thingy that is high and dangerous looking, but after he traversed it a dozen times without incident, my fears were placated. Then, of course, it happened. Grant fell from about six feet up, right onto his arm. I was surprisingly calm, calculating how long we'd be in the ER with a broken bone, half impressed that it happened before the age of 3. But, after a minute of hard crying, Grant looked up through tears and told me he wasn't "paying attention." A cut and scraped up arm, which Grant wore with pride the rest of the evening, is the only apparent battle wound. I was a little worried about a concussion, but after some very thorough--and no doubt incredibly accurate--Web MD internet searching, I think he'll make it.

Misunderstandings, Part 4

For several months now, Grant has been making a mistake in his language skills that Bret and I are unwilling to correct. We're not the grammar police, but I think there is a time and a place for teaching your kids the correct way to say and to do things, but here's the thing: Grant's mistake is both smart and cute, so I'm going to leave it for as long as I can.

You see, Grant has developed two new contractions. He says didn't, couldn't and other such common phrases. But, have you ever heard willn't and amn't? If you haven't, just stop by our house as Grant uses them constantly.

This is the how the conversation goes:

Mommy: Grant, you are funny.
Grant: No, I amn't.
Mommy: See, that's funny.

OR

Mommy: Grant, you will go to school tomorrow.
Grant: No, I willn't.

I think Grant's contraction construction shows real smarts. He obviously gets how to form a contraction, and he thinks these contraction rules can be applied to a variety of words. There's an innocence to his mistakes, as we all know that rules don't always make sense, shouldn't always apply, and aren't always fair.

Misunderstandings, Part 3

My favorite thing as of late is listening to Grant sing. He sings about 20 songs or so, and he seems to learn a new song each week. This week, he's interested in a song he heard while at Disney, but the cute part is that it takes Grant several days to get it right.

"The Ballad of Davey Crockett"

Day 1: Davey, Davey Crocket, king of my wife and steer.
Day 2: Davey, Davey Crocket, king of my oil frontier.

It only took two days to get the refrain of this old classic right, but "Rock of Ages" is going to take some time.

Misunderstandings, Part 2: The Easter Edition

I wanted to make sure Grant was properly prepared for church this morning, so I taught him how to say, "Happy Easter," to anyone who even looked at him.

And to make sure he understood the importance of Easter to us, I taught him to say, "Jesus is alive," which he said with vigor, throwing his hands into the air.

But, it was not until I saw it play out to a bunch of strangers that I realized we had a problem. Grant had no problem with "Happy Easter," but when he got to the "Jesus is alive" part, we had a bit of a horrendous problem.

You see, there's only one consonant difference between "Jesus is alive" and "Jesus is a lie," the latter which poses some serious problems.

Needless to say, I think people graciously smiled as they knew what he was trying to say, but it'll be an Easter message for the books.

So, to all our friends, family, and any other faithful readers, we hope you have a had a joyous, hope-filled Easter. We, here in the Hawkins family, are so thankful for God's love!

Misunderstandings, Part 1

Yesterday, as Grant was winding down for bed, I was telling him about Easter, specifically what Good Friday is and why we celebrate it.

I started the story with baby Jesus, a figure he remembered from Christmas. I proceed to tell the story about Jesus growing up, a short, toddler version of His ministry on earth, and then, I got to the hard part.

Mommy: Some people were very, very mad at Jesus. They did not like Him.
Grant: They didn't like Him?
Mommy: No, they were very angry with Him.
Grant: Why? Did he poop his pants?

Hmmm... not quite the Good Friday message I had intended...

Several more Grantisms to follow in the coming days.

More Scarring

I happened to notice tonight while Erin was readying Grant for bed that he was wearing a pair of pull-ups to coincide with his current potty training. This seems like a good idea, but then I noticed they were pink Dora the Explorer underpants. What mother puts her son in pink underpants?

Incidentally, her reaction to the possibility of me wearing a pair of underpants featuring the image of a Latina cartoon character on the rear was much less positive. (And trust me, even if you're just trying to write a funny blog entry, never search for "men underpants mexican girl" on Google...EVER...)

Disney: An Experience in Photos

We had a exhausting magical time at Disney, and we laughed hard at our son. He is growing into such a funny, conversational, opinionated, stubborn, and sweet boy. With the commencement of potty training this Monday (oh, and what fun it is), it's growing more and more apparent that he is no longer a baby, but he's a card carrying member of the little boy club. But, that's a good club too.

We learned a lot during our time at Disney (a lot about what we would do again... and what we wouldn't). We're not scheduling another trip for a few more years, but the first trip was a memorable one, indeed. Here are a few pictures from our last days at Disney.

At the pool


Watching Thomas the Tank Engine (Mickey, who?) before bed


Before our "all you can drink Milkshake night" (Mommy abstained, fyi) at the Wilderness Lodge (which I think is Mommy's favorite of all the resorts)


Waiting patiently outside of the Rockin' Rollercoaster while Mommy and Daddy tried one adult ride


Waiting in line to meet Woody and Buzz Lightyear. Grant has never seen the movies, but he is an all-out Buzz Lightyear fan.


The moment came, and it turned out Grant was a little freaked.


Minnie proved to be Grant's favorite. He would not let her go...


But Goofy was a different story...


Here's my favorite picture of the whole entire trip. I positioned the camera, and Bret said, "Grant, look who is coming!" Grant looked at Donald Duck, heading our way, and here's his reaction. Pure joy.

Whine, whine, whine...

Upon returning to Indiana, I have been informed by an unnamed reader of our blog who goes by the code name of "my mother" that I should not have posted that "more pictures would be coming" if more were not, indeed, on the way. Apparently my observations on life are no substitute for pictures of a grandchild enjoying Disney World, so let me explain why no pictures have showed up.

Disney does not have "free Internet" at their resorts. In fact, they don't even have "cheap Internet." They have $10 per day Internet. Therefore one must choose when and how to use the Internet, which for yours truly meant that I would only purchase two days worth and try to do what I could.

The other side of the coin is that for whatever reason, Erin and I stopped taking pictures midway through our trip. We have some more to post, but I'll let Erin handle that between cleaning our poor neglected house and potty training Grant.

To finish our travelogue, we left Orlando on Friday and drove to visit family in Birmingham for the weekend. We had a very nice visit, and Grant couldn't have been happier to see his cousins and "Aunt Keh-when and Unco Biww" (that's toddler speak for Karen and Bill). Amazingly, for the second year in a row in Birmingham, I ran into the same friend from high school who has relocated to Alabama. What are the chances?

After stuffing what valuables we could find into our pockets, we left my aunt and uncle's house on Sunday morning and headed for home. We stopped at our favorite Nashville area restaurant, Vittles, on Sunday for lunch and made it home around 7:00pm.

Today it's snowing here in Indianapolis. So I'll repeat the question to my wife and extended family -- Why do we continue to live here?

More pictures to come...really...some day...

You must be joking, Mickey...

Yesterday, we started our Disney Day at the same character breakfast buffet that we indulged in on Monday. I ate approximately five pounds of eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, and cream laden bread pudding.

After lounging around for the day, we made our way to the Whispering Canyon Cafe at Disney's Wilderness Lodge. The cafe is notable for several reasons. First, they have an all-you-can-eat BBQ skillet featuring ribs, brisket, pulled pork, and chicken. As if this wasn't heart stopping enough, they also offer unlimited milk shakes. If this place existed in Indianapolis, there would be an ABC special when they have to cut a wall out of our house to wheel my bed onto the back of a truck to take me to the doctor.

In addition to the all you can eat grub, the Whispering Canyon features some small hostilities. For example, if you're the first guy in the room to ask for ketchup, they deliver 30 bottles of Heinz to your table. When the next guy asks for ketchup, you dump all the bottles on him. Similarly, if a kid asks for a crayon, every table delivers one to him. The kids love it, and I didn't mind it because it never required me to come up for air from my barbecue.

After eating ourselves sick, we made our way to the Boardwalk, where Erin and I share fond memories of eating donuts that looked a lot like icing covered inner tubes. We entered the bakery, and immediately I noticed the lack of donuts. They had whole grain muffins and some carrot cake, but not a donut in sight. I figured that perhaps they were only available in the mornings.

We inquired about the donuts, already planning to return in the AM, and the girl behind the counter informed us that they no longer serve the beautiful donuts because "Disney has gone no trans-fats."

You must be joking.

There was a cart not 10 feet away serving elephant ears covered with powdered sugar, and Disney just offered me unlimited beef, pork, and chocolate milk shakes for dinner. Not to mention the fact that in the parks, virtually every lunch spot serves a small heap of fried fish and chicken nuggets. But you can't serve me a freaking donut?

I have to believe this was decided in a board room with a conversation that went something like this:

"So what can we eliminate from our dining options that doesn't impact our offerings very much, but makes Disney look like they're doing the socially responsible thing?"

"Umm, sir, how about we eliminate one of the 65 buffets on the property?"

"Poppycock, Wilson. Those buffets are keeping our scooter rental business afloat!"

"How about we eliminate the giant Goofy candy dispensers that allow kids to fill a tube the size of a whiffle ball bat with pure flavored sugar?"

"Hogwash, Jones! Daffy's On-site Dental Care fills 2000 cavities per week because of those sugar sticks!"

"What about eliminating trans-fats? I don't know what a trans-fat is, but we did a study, and all we have to ditch are those donuts at the Boardwalk Bakery. Plus CNN talks about trans-fats every day, as though they carry Bubonic plague!"

"Excellent idea, Smith! Make it happen. And here's a free 3-day Hopper Pass for you and the misses for your hard work."

I feel like I've been had.

Sounds of Disney

Here is a short list of things I've heard at list a million times since we arrived at Disney World:

1. "Come on, Grant!" Grant cannot simply walk from location A to location B. He has to look at or play with every object between those two points, frequently attempting to injure them.

2. Inanimate objects playing Disney tunes. Disney has spent a fortune making trees, rocks, and sidewalks play their library of cartoon hits. Virtually everywhere you walk, "Zip A Dee Doo Dah" is humming quietly in the background from what appears to be a fern.

3. "If you don't RIGHT NOW, I'm going to beat the out of you!" Disney brings out the best, and worst, of parents. Grant has never heard these words, of course.

4. "AAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!" Similar to #3, Disney seems to alternate between a chorus of the most pleasant and inviting sounds known to man, alternating occasionally with a toddler scream that sounds as if it came from the shock therapy ward of a mental institution.

5. "Welcome home!" The gate keeper at the entrance to our resort greets us this way when we return from outings. I always want to ask, "Can I take a weed eater to Goofy's head over there, or perhaps do some ultimately unsuccessful home improvement projects on my room? If not, I'm not home. But this is a lovely substitute."

6. "That was pretty good, but I bet you can do better!!!" Apparently the non-Disney universe is clapping and/or greeting deficient. I have not once clapped or yelled "Good morning, Mickey!" in a satisfactory manner on my first attempt. Frequently my second attempt contains a muted expletive, just out of spite.

7. "I want to ride another ride!" Grant began saying this at about 10am at the Magic Kingdom. He was still muttering it in his sleep at 3am the next morning.

8. "That'll be ." Disney is not cheap. We got a good deal on our trip, but I pity the folks who did not. I have seen multiple parents sobbing at the checkout lines of the various giftshops as Junior slurped away on a $10 lollipop. "M-I-C-K-E-Y...Give me your money!"

9. "Do they have Thomas or Percy here?" Grant nearly got a beat down from Goofy while waiting for breakfast this morning. He was gleefully reading a Thomas the Tank Engine book WITHIN THE DISNEY GROUNDS. Mickey's been trying to knock that cheeky little engine off the rails since his inception. I suspect one day Thomas might end up sporting mouse ears.

10. And finally, "Can someone give me a push?" This is the request made by one of the thousands of people now riding around Disney in power chairs after the battery starts to die. I find it distressing that SO MANY people, mostly American, require mobility assistance, and in at least 75% of the cases here, it's due to simple obesity. I'm a big dude, but I've already told Erin that if I can't walk on my own two feet for a trip to Disney World when I'm old, I do NOT deserve to be issued a power scooter. It's my own fault. I should've backed off the burritos long before I cracked the sidewalk at the entrance to the Magic Kingdom.

More pictures to come from Disney's Hollywood Studios tomorrow.

The Magic Kingdom

When we booked this vacation several months ago, Bret looked at me and said, "I'm super busy, so I want you to plan this entire thing, from top to bottom, and I want it to be a surprise." And, I'll tell you something: I'm a darn good researcher. A darn, darn good researcher. So, it should have come as no surprise to Bret that--when we made our way to the Magic Kingdom this morning--I had a typed out list of the order of events.

Now, before you go all organic on me, swearing that the "mood should lead" or "let the little one decide," let me plead my case.

First of all, tickets are no cheap order. And, when you consider that we are spending one day at the Magic Kingdom and one at Disney's Hollywood Studios (former MGM for you non-Disney-aholics), I wanted to ensure that our time at each park was loads of fun.

In addition, there are people (hoards of people) who study the traffic patterns of the Magic Kingdom. No really. They have algorithms. I'm not a mathy person, but they swear by their predictions, and when my friend handed me a book with a "touring plan for young children" created by the founders of this algorhithm, I decided to try it out. The founder swears that it can save you up to 4.5 hours of line standing.

And, here's the thing: it worked like a champ. We did some criss-crossing and some compromising, but we didn't stand in a line for over 15 minutes all day (on a very, very busy day). I expected to finish half the touring plan by lunch, but we were done with 6 major rides (and a Space Mountain stint for Daddy) by 10:30. We spent the rest of the time finishing the afternoon portion of the touring plan, and we left early and EXHAUSTED.

Poor little Grant was such a trooper! He never complained, never cried, and he never said a word. Not a word. He was so engrossed, so mesmorized, that it took about two hours to make sure he still had a voice. Bret and I tried our hardest to get him to talk, but all we could conjure were a few head nods. He was in heaven. Finally, he would tell us, "another ride."

Grant tried everything: from Pirates to his first rollercoaster (and it was no little coaster). He loved the speedway and Dumbo, and he now has a special place in his heart for Peter Pan. He loved the trains (we went on a few), but by the end, I think he was done processing, and to be honest, I was too.

And sadly (though not surprising), he was bummed beyond measure as he realized our van was in sight, and there were no more rides for the day.

I have been to DisneyLand (that's the original, thank you very much Hoosiers) many, many a time (I did grow up in LA, after all). But I must admit that never has a day with Mickey been so magical for me. Touring plan or not, it was a great day, an easier than expected day, and a day that I'll remember for a long, long time. We don't have many pictures of the day (as we didn't stop for the characters -- we're doing two character breakfasts, so lay off), and as we started taking photos, I realized we could only have so many "here's Grant sitting about to take off on..." kind of photos), so no complaining grandparents!

Disney

On Friday afternoon, we left Indiana for Grant's first visit to Disney World. We decided to drive down through Knoxville to Chattanooga for our first night. Now I realize this isn't the most direct route, but it only adds a little bit of time on paper, and Erin and I have had less than great luck with Louisville and Nashville traffic. Wanting to stick to our "no chains" rule for vacation dining, I had scoped out a little place in Richmond, Kentucky called Opal's. Opal's turned out to be a fantastic little place with classic southern home cooking. We'll definitely be stopping again. We hit Chattanooga fairly late on Friday evening, and all of us crashed.

Saturday morning we got up and headed over to our favorite breakfast joint in Chattanooga, Aretha Frankenstein's. Aretha's was packed, so we ended up sitting at the bar, wolfing down Godzilla sized portions of pancackes and eggs. It was tremendous. I ate all of my meal and most of Erin's.

It was already raining as we left Chattanooga, and as it turned out, it was destined to rain for the next six hours. Our drive through Georgia was absolutely brutal. Erin endured about three hours of hard, white knuckle driving in a thunderstorm. On top of it, I-75 was under construction, and there were several spots with two feet of standing water in the road. There were accidents everywhere, and by the time we hit Valdosta, the trucker's were discussing whether the road should even be open when we stopped at a truck stop. Luckily things changed as we entered Florida, and we were able to stop for a nice dinner and stroll around the Univ. of Florida campus in Gainesville.

Our first day in Florida was spent lounging around our room at Disney's Port Orleans - Riverside resort and eventually eating at the T.Rex restaurant (the dinosaur, not the British glam band) at Downtown Disney. I ate all of my ice cream sundae at the Ghirardelli restaurant, plus most of Grant's (do you see a theme here?) Afterward, we rode the boat back to our resort. Grant was declared the "captain of the boat" complete with a certificate and ovation from other boat-goers. He couldn't have been more pleased.

Today we got up bright and early for a "character breakfest" with Minnie, Goofy, and Donald. Grant smothered Minnie with kisses on her giant plastic nose, guaranteeing his exposure to all potential viruses carried by the other kikds enjoying their Disney vacation. After breakfast, we decided to head for the pool.

Our pool features what looked like a delightful waterslide. Grant was excited to give it a ride with Daddy, so we ventured to the top soon after arriving. I sat him in my lap and headed down, only to be met by the steely glare of a life guard when I reached the bottom, informing me that the slide was "one person at a time."

Not about to let this interfere with my son's amusement, which had been obvious upon our splashdown during the first ride, I headed back up the slide again with him. When we got to the top, I explained quickly that he needed to stay upright. As I let go of him, it occurred to me that I hadn't really gone through all of the potential scenarios in my head, and as he hit the first turn, I saw him sort of rotate in an unnatural direction.

Erin was waiting at the bottom for him, and I was delighted to see her intercept him as he hit the water. I jumped onto the slide and made my way down, this time arriving to the steely glare of Grant's mother AND the life guard. This time the lifeguard was yelling "He can't go down face first." I yelled back, "He didn't start that way!" This didn't help matters. At some point in the journey, Grant rotated down onto his stomach and ended up dragging his lip along the slide, leaving a small but mommy-detectable mark. Erin informed me that as he hit the pool, his eyes were the size of dinner plates, and he was doing all he could to keep his face out of the slide water. He didn't seem at all bothered by the experienced, but we determined that good parenting probably meant no more water slide.

This evening we had dinner at Ohanas at the Polynesian Resort. This is a takeoff on the traditional Brazilian steakhouse, featuring meat carted around on spears. The food was excellent, and the bread pudding at the end was a wonderful finish.

Tomorrow we're headed to the Magic Kingdom, and while Grant has enjoyed most of the trip thus far, I suspect tomorrow is when the wheels will really get rolling.

Orlando Arrival

It only took two days and a raft of iPod recharges, but we've finally arrived in Orlando safe and sound. Grant had pretty much forgotten how to use his legs when we arrived at our hotel this evening. We're all off to bed, but we wanted to let the grandparents know that despite everyone's ill conceptions of my ability to drive, we did, indeed, arrive with all our limbs in tact.

More to come...

Disneyworld or Bust

We're heading off tomorrow for our trek down to sunny Florida. We can hardly wait!

Grant has been saying for weeks that he has no interest in going to DisneyWorld, but instead, he'd rather stay back in Indiana with grandparents. Mamma is not having any such nonsense. So, today, I put in the Disney promotional dvd, one with lots of pictures of Dumbo, Mickey, and trains (every roller coaster is a train to Grant), and can you guess who is ready to go to "Disneywowd" (as he calls it)?

We'll post often while down there, but we won't have lots of time, so you can expect quick updates, a few pictures, and lots of bragging about warm weather!

137 miles to nowhere

There are some mornings where you wake up, look at the schedule for the day, and wonder if you've completely lost your mind. In my case, I'm well aware that I've lost my mind (with just a little bit of help from a team of Chinese guys in Shenzhen), but I still marvel at why anyone would do this to themselves.

1. Get up at 6:30am, head out the door at 7:15 to meet my mom to drop off Grant at point B on the map. Now you may look at my little map and say, "Gee, there's no location 'A' on it." You would be correct. A, E, and G are all the same place, which means not only am I going to drive 137 miles, I'm not even going to go anywhere.

2. Drive from point B to the hospital at point C to have more giant needles stuck in my back. Did I mention all the driving and running around I get to do today? On top of it, I'm HAVING MY SPINE NEEDLED. You know what that feels like? It's sort of like HAVING YOUR SPINE NEEDLED.

3. Depart needling at 9:00 and head for work at point D. Work until 11:30, then have big Chinese lunch with the colleagues. On top of the driving, I'm having jellyfish and fish parts for lunch. (Actually, it's quite tasty...not the jellyfish, but the fish parts are pretty decent. Fish don't have snouts or beaks, so most fish parts are pretty decent.)

4. Leave work at 2:00 to go close on our refinancing. Oh wait, I forgot that one on the map. It's only a few miles from work though, so I'll let it slide.

5. Leave closing and return home to E to pickup the wife and head to my parents (point F) to pickup the Grant.

6. Leave point F to return home to point G. I then have a conference call (more Chinese dudes) at 9:30pm. I should add Singapore and Shenzhen to the map, since those are involved too, but alas.

I can't wait for our vacation next week. At least Disney's version of "It's a Small World" doesn't feature conference calls every night and Chinese dudes named Bigtree.

The Anti-Facebook--TOP 10

As Bret delves (per previous post) deeper and deeper into Facebook hell (and, yes, I do think that it is an actual layer in Dante's inferno), I--for one--am putting my foot down.

I have lots of reasons that Facebook isn't right for me, and because blogging is right for me, I will now list these highly astute reasons for you.

1. I don't have a smokin' hot picture of myself for my profile. For me to join Facebook, I'd have to look like a Greek goddess. No, really. As I secretly scroll through Facebook profile pictures of friends from previous eras of my life, I'm thinking to myself, "Man, she looks really, really bad." Or fat. Or old. So, I don't want anyone looking at my picture and thinking the same thing. I know I have wrinkles and gray hair. I know I have a few pounds to shed. I don't need the rest of the world knowing it too.

2. I don't want to talk to half the people who would want to be friends. I've checked out peoples' friends, and it looks like most people "take on" friends who they really aren't that keen on to begin with... there are about five people from high school, even fewer from elementary school and college, and even fewer from the grad school years from whom I want to hear life updates. And, for the most part, I'm in touch with those people. And, they complete me.

3. And for current friends, we're current friends for a reason: because you live in INDIANAPOLIS and, wait for it, so do I. How about coffee?

4. Let's be honest. It started as a college thing, became a high school thing, and now it's an old person thing. I'm a trendsetter, people. I don't pick up a trend that's on it's way to some hot or not list.

5. My current students are Facebook junkies. I don't want them seeing me, and I sure as heck don't want to see them. I want to stay as far away as I can from the unparented, uncensored world of my kids.

6. I've got stuff to do. No, really. I have three bathrooms to clean. I have a kitchen floor to scrub. I am behind by over a year on Grant's scrapbook. I have spring cookies to make with my son. I don't have time for this Facebook crap, and I can't imagine you do either! Chop, chop!

7. Not to sound to anti-tech, but truth be told, I'm holding at email. I have not and will not embrace the text, the facebook, or the twitter. Don't even get me started on the twitter.

8. One of the options is "Poke," a lingo I don't get and don't understand. For example, if you pull up a friend, it says, "Poke Kate." Poking is mean and bad. My mom did her work to teach me that a long time ago, and I'm not ditching some stellar upbringing to be a part of what is cool and hip. Just so you know, that was my line for other such vices: sex, drugs, partying.

9. Facebook is shallow. On one's profile, there is room for favorite movies, favorite TV shows, favorite books, and--here's my favorite--favorite quotations. There are no real questions: What do you believe? How do you try to live that belief out in the day to day of your life? What issues are you passionate about currently? What are your deepest struggles, triumphs, and regrets? Sherbet or Ice Cream?

10. Under status, there is no "happily married" button as that is obviously what Bret would have put had he had the option. Obviously.

I will provide one exception to this Facebook boycott: when my own children have one. But, let's be honest, by then it'll be some new fancy technology, but my point remains. If my kids are into some secret, friend only, pass around pictures from last night's party kind of club, I'm in too. Oh, and don't think I won't make them by my friend. That's right. I work with high school students every day, and I think teen privacy is highly overrated.

So, until I change my mind, and it's going to take a whole lot for that to happen, I'm off to be productive... or to sit in front of my Tivo watching lame reality TV.

Facebook

Over the past couple of years, I've gotten an occasional request in my email to "become friends with (insert name) on Facebook!" I've deleted these requests because I haven't had the time to update both a Facebook page AND this delightful blog. But, believe it or not, because of something we're attempting at work, I ended up creating a Facebook account this week.

I have a number of questions and concerns regarding my participation in the Facebook community. Perhaps some of you expert Facebook-ers can be of some assistance by commenting on this post or writing something on my wall in Facebook. In any case, here are the dilemmas thus far.

1. I don't yet know how I feel about the sudden change of intimacy between myself and people I haven't spoken to or thought about in 20+ years. I suddenly have friend requests coming in from people I knew when I still occasionally digested a crayon or two, which leads quickly from "Hmm...I wonder how that guy turned out?" to seeing things like "I took an extra Xanax this morning to stop the voices. Then I had a waffle." I'm not sure this sudden view into the private lives of people I "used to know" is healthy.

2. Given my busy schedule and active social calendar, I don't know if I'm responsible for replying to every comment made "on my wall" on Facebook. Am I allowed to reply in a few days? Do I have to reply immediately? I always feel like I need to actually respond to emails, but does the same apply to Facebook? Do I really need to talk Xanax guy off the ledge?

3. Is it considered stalking to "friend" people who you only knew in 2nd grade? I'm getting requests like this, but is this really acceptable? Can you email a restraining order?

4. It depresses me that if I search based on the name of my high school, I see all these fresh, young faces come up. But I have to keep scrolling until I see the bald dudes to find "my people."

In any case, it's cool to talk to people, albeit informally, that I don't get to talk to very often. And it's definitely addicting to look at pictures of people I knew long ago. But given that I haven't yet mastered the ability to communicate in two sentence bursts (see my previous texting issues), I'm still going to use this blog as my primary forum. But if you wanna hookup on Facebook, here's my page.

Needles and Bags

I had a conference call with my Chinese co-workers last night. (For those of you who read our blog faithfully, I was recently introduced to two new guys -- Kingball and Big Tree. I wonder if they share an office.)

Anyway, the call lasted until midnight and featured any number of discouraging things, so I had trouble falling asleep afterward. After sleeping only a couple of hours, I got up this morning and came to work exhausted. In an effort to catch up on some sleep and take in the 72 degree temperatures, I escaped to the cozy comfines of my Hyundai Sonata for a snooze over lunch. I rolled the windows down, laid the seat back and started to drift off when I heard bagpipes.

I had the radio on, so my initial thought was, "Hmm...it's St. Patrick's Day. They must be playing bagpipes on the radio. I'll turn that racket off." As I turned the radio off, I quickly realized that it had no effect on the bagpipes. They were still playing. As I considered that bagpipes are generally a Scottish phenomenon, not Irish, I look out the window of my car to see an engineer from another company in our building standing across the street playing freaking bagpipes.

It was at this very moment that I wondered to myself whether other people encounter the same amount of bizarre crap in their lives that I seem to, or whether I'm just hypersensitive to seeing surreal things like a 350 pound adult man in worn out loafers and polyester pants huffing on a set of damn bagpipes in the middle of a tech complex parking lot during his lunch hour.

In other news of the weird, I had my first round of steroid injections in my back yesterday. As I lay on the operating table with my rear end exposed for all the world to see, I listened to the doctor and nurse discussing their NCAA tournament pics and what they had accomplished over the weekend. Eventually, the doctor said "This is going to be a little cold."

What I discovered during this whole episode is that if a doctor talks a lot about how the upcoming procedure is going to feel, it probably isn't going to hurt. Doctors will feed you all kinds of "This won't hurt a bit" and "You won't feel a thing." But if it's going to hurt like hell, they only say terse things like, "This might be cold." Plus my doctor is German which makes everything he says sound slightly more sinister. "You von't feel a zing as I push this needle into your spine."

After he rubbed the cold stuff on my back, he informed me that I'd feel a small pinch. This was the "small" needle that provided the anesthetic. This felt like a normal shot. I could then only feel pressure from the "larger" needle being inserted, and it really was no big deal. Then he pushed the plunger.

I let out an audible "Zikes" which induced a small amount of laughter from the nurse and doctor. "Did you feel that?" No, I just felt like screaming for the heck of it. As they pushed the steroid into my back, it felt like a small fire raced instantly from my back to the little toe on my left leg. It only lasted about 2 seconds, but I definitely knew I was on fire.

From that point on, the doctor kindly warned me before he hit me with each injection. Some I barely felt, others burned in various places on my rear end and thigh. Afterward, I sat up. He asked how I felt, and my response was "I haven't felt this good in years," and I wasn't kidding. I felt no pain in my back. He informed me that unfortunately, this was due to the anesthetic. But it was still a good sign because it gave some indication of how I might feel if they got my nerve pain under control. Unfortunately this initial high wore off after about three hours.

The doctor said that the injections went very well and that it will take several days for them to have their full effect. I'm still sore today, but I'm not hobbling around as much as I have been. I may have to do several rounds of injections before we move on to other options. I'm cautiously optimistic that the injections will at least get me back some mobility.

Now if I could just get some sleep without hearing Amazing Grace at 200 dBs on the bagpipes...

3 years

Three years to the day, we've been officially "in line" in the Chinese adoption world. Our LID date (Log In Date) is March 15, 2006, and again we say, "THIS IS THE LONGEST FREAKIN' PREGNANCY EVER!!. We're not even counting the paperwork (or the years and years of infertility). It's hard to think that process has taken so long, but it is really exciting to think that Grace's arrival is imminent. She'll be here soon, and we're just giddy (well, Bret and I are giddy; the jury is still out on Grant). There are lots and lots of rumors swirling around the adoption community right now that the CCAA (Chinese agency in charge of adoption) might actually get to our number in a few weeks, but we're not holding our breath. We'll let you know as we get closer!

Grace continues to be a part of our hearts and our prayers... she'll be our little girl... someday!

The Winner Is...

Well, it sure has been exciting to see those poll results a comin'. When I asked Bret who he thought had the higher credit score, he responded by saying, "Well, I would hope I would." I'm not sure what that means, but he (and all-ya-all who voted for Bret) are wrong. It looks like this budget queen came out on top... if only by four points!

We've decided to refinance our home, and we got a killer deal! I, for one, am okay with a tanked economy. Here's what I've scored so far: a killer refinance deal, a cheapo trip to Disney, and no where to go but up with our 401k.

So, off to crunch vacation numbers so Bret knows how many fruity drinks by the pool are in the plan! Every man has his priorities.

We recently had to pull our credit scores, and let's see how well our readership knows us. A Quick Test for our readers...

Who do you think has the better credit score?

Conversations

Here's a conversation with Grant from a few weeks ago. Topics covered: preschool, family, food and other toddler fun.

STILL...HURTING...

I know, I know. I've been using this blog as a forum to complain about my ailing back for the past several months. But at this point, every time Erin has to pickup Grant or bend over to retrieve my discarded ice cream bowl or empty beer mug, she throws me a glance which says, "Either get your back fixed, or there will be other things that will be far more difficult to repair or reattach." So on Friday, I visited the Midwest Pain Institute to see what could be done.

It's never good when the doctor's first words are, "Your MRI is impressive."

Impressive? You mean like, I have such a stunning body and frame that it showed up as such in the MRI? Or, my body is in such perfect alignment that I should have my own statue next to David?

His next words were, "You have two herniated discs, and an additional small tear in one of the two discs. Both discs are badly dehydrated and degenerated." Not good. Apparently the reason my back "goes out" every few months is that just about the time this tear heals, I rip it back open while shoveling snow, chopping wood, or reaching across the table for another cheeseburger.

The solution, which you can watch performed in detail by clicking on "Patient Education," then "Orthopedics," then "Non-Surgical Procedures," then finally "Lumbar Epidural Steroid Injection" on the Midwest Pain Institute website, is to have some steroids pumped directly into my back to try to reduce the inflammation caused by all of this. You'll note if you watch the video that it starts with a small needle then proceeds to a larger, thicker needle. Not good.

If they can reduce my inflammation and get me upright once again, I will be starting an exercise regime to "strengthen my core." Basically, I support everything (mostly carried by spoon and fork) using my lower back, rather than my largely ignored stomach and other core muscles.

The good news is that the doctor doesn't think I have permanent damage, I just need to get in shape. I have this first procedure in about a week. I'll let you know how the "larger, thicker needle" feels.

Judas, who?

I teach smart kids, National Merit Finalist, Harvard-bound kind of smart kids. But, a conversation happened in class yesterday that leaves me wondering about students.

We were watching a clip from Hansberry's A Raisin in the Sun (the Sidney Poitier version not the P Diddy version... someone should have told Sean Combs there are just certain things you don't touch; it would be like someone trying to outdo Gregory Peck's portrayal of Atticus Finch. But, I digress). In it, one of the characters references thirty pieces of silver. I paused the film to make sure my students understood the reference. Here's how it went down:

Me: "So, you guys get the thirty pieces of silver reference, right?
Class: silence
Me: "No, really. Can someone explain the reference?"
Class: silence
Me: "If I say 'Judas,' does that help?
Class: silence
Me: "No, really. Judas Iscariot?"
Class: silence
One student: "Is that the guy in Pirates of the Caribbean?"

I died. Needless to say, I started some cultural literacy training today. We're going to cover important people in literature, mythology, the Bible; today's lesson: Job. I wrote his name on the board, but I made sure I supplied a pronunciation key, as I didn't want my Harvard-bound students at a cocktail party talking about the guy in the Bible who experienced terrible hardship and fake friends but had a cool name that rhymed with sob. Or lob. Or mob. Or cob.

Zip It

Last night I was gathering up our laundry with the intention of "takin' it out back and beatin' it 'ginst a rock 'n some soapy water to warsh it," as is our way here in good old Indiana. As I normally do, I was in the process of zipping all the zippers and buttoning all the buttons when I managed to disassemble the zipper on one of Erin's favorite skirts.

I made a desperate attempt at emergency zipper repair, and I thought I'd succeeded. But when I handed the article over to my gentle, loving wife, she immediately tore the zipper asunder.

Logically, I suggested that perhaps she could still wear the skirt via the use of some cleverly placed safety pins or buttons, but she found this suggestion to be nonsensical. I was surprised by this reaction.

You see, Erin has a coat -- a winter coat, no less -- that does not have a usable zipper. Long ago, the zipper was yanked from its tracks, but she still wears this coat in all manner of frigid, Indiana winter conditions. I often suggest that she purchase another winter coat, one featuring a working zipper even, but she simply tells me that there's no reason to do so. She is perfectly content to dart from car to building and back, coat blowing in the breeze, rather than purchasing a new coat and staying healthy and warm from November to March.

Similarly, soon after we were married, she wore a pair of overalls from which the shoulder straps had been excised. In fact, her overalls were really nothing more than a pair of denim shorts without a waistband. They were shameful, but didn't bother Erin in the slightest. She wore them until they suffered some sort of accidental death while being sorted for the laundry one evening.

So it makes no sense to me why I should be expected to throw out a perfectly good skirt, just because of the absence of some semi-necessary closure hardware. Surely there's "some rope 'er somethin' we can use to tie it to 'er waist."

Croup

Grant's got croup or, as they say in Indiana, the croup. On top of it, his bark cough is so bad, he's thrown up several times: on my favorite quilt, all over his car seat, and then, all over me. It's been a really fun mommy day. Let's hope (and pray) the steroid the doc gave him provides him a peaceful night's sleep. Here's to wishful thinking!

Analyze This

The other night I had a dream. I don't usually remember my dreams, partly because they're frequently interrupted by Grant screaming or Erin griping that I've stolen something from her (the electric blanket, the comforter, her dignity, etc). But the other night, I had a dream so vivid that I've been thinking about it ever since.

It started with my entire family on my dad's side sitting in a room debating. It wasn't clear what they were debating, at first, but my dad and uncle were obviously very bothered about the whole thing. Eventually they came to a consensus, at which point they came over to explain the situation to Erin and I.

Apparently, in my dream, you could bring someone back from the grave, but only for a relatively short amount of time. The ongoing debate between my dad and uncle surrounded the individual our family had chosen to revive -- my great grandfather, Dewey.

Anyone that has known me for any length of time has heard at least one Dewey story. He was eccentric, possibly to the point of being what one might call "disturbed." He had a parrot that he fed coffee and bacon to in the morning. He had an organ in the family room of his house, but he'd only play the black keys. He believed you could heal burns by saying a poem -- something about "blow out fire, blow in frost." He was one card short of a full deck, you might say.

Anyway, apparently we had decided, for whatever reason, to bring back Dewey. Part of the revival procedure involved riding with the coffin through a series of conveyor belts and mazes. But you actually started in the ground at the grave site. So Erin and I rode with the coffin, which was terrifying. The entire journey you could see Dewey's feet sticking out of the bottom of the coffin, and he was angrily kicking at the lid complaining that we weren't moving fast enough at getting him unpacked.

Once we returned to the first room, we unboxed Dewey. He was in a burial suit and was a bit musty, but otherwise in tact. We immediately began grilling him with questions about our family history. At first he obliged, but he quickly became agitated -- true to his living character.

Meanwhile, my mom searched around the room for a pad of paper and pencil to write down what he was telling us. Nobody could believe that we were so ill prepared for the experience of reviving this dude, but seeing my mom scampering around looking for something to write with seems pretty true to form.

Eventually I awoke to the sound of Grant screaming. I immediately began wondering why we hadn't chosen more intriguing questions to ask my great grandfather, like why he used to throw live wires in the sink while you washed dishes, or how he'd manage to spew crazy genes throughout our family tree. But alas, I'll have to wait until we dig him up again to ask the tougher questions.

I need a drink.

Still...hurting...

Click on the picture for a closeup...

Grandma and Gracie

Maybe my mom just couldn't pass up a good deal; maybe she knew Gracie's arrival was imminent. Either way, my mom dropped by yesterday (her birthday) with a load full of new clothes (even loads of Ralph Lauren stuff... including the cutest little Ralph Lauren dress for Gracie) for Grant and Gracie. I'm talking three shirts and three dresses for Gracie and three pairs of pants and two shirts for Grant. She did get a whopper of a deal at Kohl's (the most expensive item was like three bucks), but it's no wonder that I don't have to buy clothes for these kids the way their grandparents spoil them.

We did hear some more news about Gracie today. The CCAA (the agency in charge of adoptions in China) has referred through March 6. Again, it's like the DMV, so our number is March 15, and each month we inch closer. Now, with some certainty (cough, cough), we can assume to get Gracie's referral at the beginning of May or the beginning of June. May would be ideal... please pray for MAY!!! I've got to see this little girl. It's just killing me to think that we've been in pursuit of her for 3.5 years!!!

Either way, we know one thing: she's going to be dressed like a fashionista!

Grant's Prayer

Tonight's Prayer (no joke):

Mommy: Grant, do you want to pray?
Grant: Yes.
Mommy: Go ahead.
Grant (covering eyes with hands): Dear Jesus, be with Gracie. She lives in China. I don't want her to be my family.

He's got it half right. Grant tells us daily that he doesn't want to be a brother, but I've got some news for him: the train has left the station.

We'll have a Grace update soon. This next week will tell us a lot about when we'll be heading to China.

Some Pictures

He's just too cute... and he's not lacking in the personality department either. Oh, and these are a bit old; Grant lost his afro a few weeks ago, but I haven't recovered enough from the trauma of that outing to even post about it yet. Time heals all wounds, right?

"Hey look, it's Grant's parents!"

The other night at WalMart, our designated spot for birthdays, anniversaries, and all special occasions, we were shopping in the Health and Beauty section of the megastore. To be more precise, we were giggling like middle school kids at the variety of colors, shapes, and sizes of, shall we say, preventatives, when we heard a voice declare, "Awww look, it's Grant!"

There's some amount of trepidation involved when anyone sees you shopping for such things, even as an adult (or a taller, heavier juvenile, in my case). I'm still prone to sliding anything even remotely "Birds and Bees"-y (preventatives, home pregnancy tests, hemorrhoid cream) under my bread and roast beef in the shopping cart to prevent speculation on the part of my fellow shoppers as to my intentions later in the evening.

But in this case, it was slightly more horrifying than usual. Erin and I turned to see one of Grant's pre-school teachers from a local church standing there with open arms to greet Grant and his two shameful parents. We quickly turned our backs to the display shelves in an effort to prevent her from noticing what we were looking at, but I don't think it helped. We talked to her for a few minutes, and afterwards, I'm fairly certain she winked at me.

Scarred

Way back on December 3 I made mentioned of having done some "home surgery" on this funny looking spot that developed on my neck. My face has always been prone to these types of things. Shaving frequently leaves me in need of a blood transfusion.

In any case, regarding the funny looking spot on my neck -- sumbitch is still there.

I took another crack at figuring out why this weird spot isn't healing last night, but only left the wound looking refreshed. In any case, this morning after I got out of the shower, Erin informed me that I needed to "cover that thing up. It looks hideous."

When I got downstairs to eat my Cheerios (a delicious and healthy way to start ANY day...I'm looking for some General Mills sponsorship love here), I found a little powder brush and some makeup on the counter, courtesy of Erin.

So just before throwing Grant in the car for the ride to school, I dipped into the bathroom to pretty myself. Grant entered soon after to find me dabbing some natural colored concealer onto my wound, and as he always does, asked "What are you doing, Daddy?"

I immediately started having images of that dude in "Silence of the Lambs" and Robin Williams as Mrs. Doubtfire. There's no conceivable way that you aren't scarring your two year old son when you say, "Daddy's putting on his makeup, Grant." I have failed him yet again.

What's In a Name?

This weekend, Grant said one of the funniest things ever! First, you should know that Grant has entered the stage that other people refer to as the "terrible twos," but there's nothing remotely terrible about Grant, so I just like to call it the "trying twos," as, at the most, his fits and his attitude are a bit trying.

On Sunday, I was asking Grant about his name. I asked him his first name. That's an easy pitch. Then, his middle name, and he responded, "Grant Nicholas." Now, please keep in mind that Grant knows his last name and has said it often, but I guess the last several weeks, as we have been part of that "trying twos" fun, he's heard a different name because when I asked him about his last name, he said, "Grant Nicholas Come Here." I guess I better stop barking orders for my toddler to "come here," as he's starting to get the wrong idea.

Happy Birthday, Erin!

Grant and I would like to wish our wonderful mother and wife (singularly accurate for Grant, and somewhat accurate in both senses for me) a happy, happy birthday and Valentine's Day! We've started the day with homemade pancakes, cards, and in Erin's case, a large dose of Grey's Anatomy.

I'm down with the pancakes, but there's nothing about the show or the term "grey anatomy" that does anything for me.

Hope you have a wonderful day, Honey!!

and so it begins

"And so it begins" was Bret's response last night when, for the first time, Grant started asking "why?," only to be followed up with another "why," then another. A classic toddler conversation.

Another classic conversation happened on the way home from preschool when I opened one of Grant's valentines (since when have valentines had candy?) and let him eat some of the gummy bears. I told him "this is your last one," as he had already finished the rest, and his response was a classic move in toddler manipulation: "just one more" followed quickly but not too quickly with a "please." A classic trick that has worked on many a parent.

Oh, and don't ask why Grant's shirt has a skiing wolf. I bought it for a dollar at WalMart.

Brainwashed

Since Grant is now an ardent fan of Bob the Builder, I find myself singing things like, "Can you reach it? Yes, you can!" while in the shower each morning. (I have some theories about Bob, Wendy, and their separate trailers. Ask me about them some time.)

I'm glad Grant enjoys programs like Bob and Thomas the Tank Engine, but I've noticed that the values presented in these shows are a far cry from the cartoons Erin and I grew up with.

For example, Bob the Builder visits "the recycling yard" during almost every episode. Plus one of the characters lives in a yurt. What the heck? Is this thing written by Greenpeace? How many tons of coal do you think Sherman and Peabody used to power that time machine? It probably took 50 gallons of gas and a herd of baby seals to even START that thing.

I've also noticed that in Bob the Builder, everyone always makes peace with each other by the end of the episode. At least on Sodor, the trains occasionally bash into each other leaving irreparable wounds that last at least through the next story. Not in Bob the Builder. Everyone returns to their state of blissful, Marxist ignorance by the end of each episode. Did you ever see the Coyote shake hands with the Roadrunner after his Acme Endangered Species Killer blew up in his face? I think not.

And since when was it a requirement that all cartoon characters be bilingual? Grant now runs up to me and says things which make absolutely no sense to me, and it's not because he's a jabbering toddler, it's because it's in Spanish. "Handy Manny said...yo quero...blah blah Cinco de Mayo....blah blah..." My own kid is making me feel like I got dropped off in Juárez without a passport. This isn't the world I grew up in...

Housekeeping

So, in the name of keeping up with the chilly month of January, here's some blog housekeeping:

Grant's Birthday
Post some of Grant's B-day pics. For his little party with Bret's family, he received presents that screamed "male child lives here": a soccer ball, a football, a basketball (two actually), a t-ball set and baseball, golf clubs, not to mention Thomas stuff galore. He was one happy kid. Again, he wasn't remotely interested in his cake, but like last year, his favorite part: everybody singing happy birthday!

This picture is the new "Tiger Who?"-two handed, two-clubbed golf swing.



Tagged
My cousin Kathy tagged me to go to my fourth picture folder and put up my fourth picture and tell about it. Anyone else who blogs, it's a fun little exercise you should try. This folder was all about Grant's new room, a blog I never wrote and probably never will. Grant moved to his "big boy bed" without incident, all in one evening. But, poor thing, Grant essentially lived in the office until I could get the room repainted and redecorated. Now, Grant lives in pale blue/steel grayish room full of trains, dump trucks, airplanes and more. This is Grant's "wardrobe" as the closet in his room is full of office stuff. It's nothing more than garage shelving, but I found the wallpaper decals on sale for 5 bucks and added them for a little bit of little boy flair.



Growing Up Quickly

Grant reminds us daily that he is all boy. He loves to grunt, play, push, and tackle. We've started some tentative steps toward potty training, and he can drink from an open cup without incident. He still has plenty of sensory issues (tags in his shirts are starting to be a problem), and so food continues to be a big challenge. He eats spinach dip until he's practically green, so at least we're getting some veggies in him. He's finally eating most meats, but he's still pretty picky. And despite my most persistent parenting measures, I can't get Grant to cover his mouth when he sneezes or coughs, a skill I find some of my own high school students have failed to grasp.

He still talks a blue streak, and he loves to sing. He sings everything from "Jesus Loves Me" to "Frosty the Snowman," but he's also got a special place in his heart for hymns. Bret sings hymns to Grant nightly, and Grant's favorite is "Trust and Obey," a song he'll sing for you if he likes you. I fancy myself something of a jingle writer, and Grant actually think there's a song for everything. For example, he'll say, "sing the bulldozer song, Mommy," but we all know there's no such thing. And, I'll tell Grant that I don't know a bulldozer song. But, he knows his Mommy's soft spot for thinking herself creative, and he'll ask me to "make one." I now have entire songs for Bob the Builder, every engine on the Island of Sodor, songs about letters in the alphabet, and of course, songs about Grant. They are terrible, but Grant loves them, and in the end, that's all that matters.

Grant can count to 20, sing his ABCs (though "I" through "L" are sketchy, and I'm pretty sure he thinks LMNOP is said "elmo pees"), identifies most letters, colors and shapes. To be silly, I thought I'd teach Grant some "adult" words, but they've stuck, which now just makes him weird. For example, Grant uses the word cantankerous in common conversation. Or, triceratops. Or, frigid. I'm done now. I swear. I don't want "the strange kid." We'll put his memorization skills to better use... maybe the Greek Alphabet. Just kidding. Kind of. I think Grant is smart, but what I think he can do with amazing ability is remember; that kid's memory is a steel trap. He remembers what the presents people got him for Christmas. I don't even remember that. But, before you think he's too smart, he still chews on his socks.

My favorite thing of recent is Grant's imaginative play. When he plays with his trains now, they talk to each other. But the best part is that he talks like he is reading a book (actual conversation with his trains): "'Look at that mountain,' Percy groaned. 'I'll try it,' Percy huffed." I could die it's so cute. Or, sometimes, he breaks into Thomas speak in the most un-Thomas of places. You know your son is a Thomas fan when he's playing at the park and yells, "Cinders and ashes, I fell," or "Bust my buffers, mommy" in the grocery store.

More to come... just give us time.

I Am...Hurting...

I realize I posted a while back about shoveling our driveway, back pain, etc. But in the days since, I've come to the conclusion that a) I'm really in a lot of pain and b) I'm not really doing anything to help it.

I've tried icing it, but that just leaves me with a large red splotch on my back and a numbness that might normally suggest I've been on the toilet for too long. I've tried pharmaceuticals, which seemed to work briefly but are now failing me. And I've even tried stretching, which if you know me, is just ugly. Nothing on my body stretches properly, except for my gut, and it is only partially involved in this current issue.

To make matters worse, I continue to engage in behaviors that are detrimental to the health of my lower back and leg -- the source of my current pain. This Sunday, I helped out with the 4 and 5 year olds at church. This group provides a somewhat ominous view of my next few years. These are some weird little people.

Unfortunately for me, it's not the girls who are so weird -- it's the little boys. One kid wore a seaman's hat, like the Captain in Captain and Tennille the whole morning. Another one wandered around with a protective hand down his shorts all morning. Another one would just occasionally yell "Blaaaaaah" and kick whatever object was nearest. It was crazy. I looked at Grant when I got home and wondered how I would protect my well mannered son from himself in the coming years.

The other detrimental behavior I keep engaging in is sitting around on my rear. My doctor keeps telling me "Don't sit any more than you have to!" But I've gotta tell you, this dude requires quite a bit of sitting. For one, my job requires me to sit at least half the day (3/4 if you count time in the john). I also quite enjoy watching movies at home or listening to music or reading books, none of which can be done while standing. (Don't you people with treadmills open your traps. I said I "enjoy" these things, not torture myself while doing them.) And finally, we just booked a vacation to drive to Florida over the course of 2 days each way. Perhaps they'll let me in the handicap lines at Disney World by the time I get there.