Dylan,
Ten years ago today, at right about this time, I walked outside after one of my first days as a substitute high school teacher and stood amazed at the weather. I had just moved here from a land where it's about 12 degrees cooler and cloudy all the time.
Just another beautiful January 31st.
I'm glad you get to live here but be careful, it will make you soft.
Dad
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
timeout
Dylan,
Sometimes you throw food on the floor when you're in your high-chair and you're unhappy about something or just want to make a point.
We've adopted a tactic where we promptly take away your food and turn the chair into the corner or facing a wall for one minute before resuming mealtime. It really seems to work well.
Dad
Sometimes you throw food on the floor when you're in your high-chair and you're unhappy about something or just want to make a point.
We've adopted a tactic where we promptly take away your food and turn the chair into the corner or facing a wall for one minute before resuming mealtime. It really seems to work well.
Dad
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
rebounding
d,
You slept through the night. Whew.
I gave you another three ounces of pedialyte this morning and even got you to go back to sleep in your crib for another half hour. You're still very tired, and out of sorts, but your stomach seems to have regained some semblance of proper working order.
dad
You slept through the night. Whew.
I gave you another three ounces of pedialyte this morning and even got you to go back to sleep in your crib for another half hour. You're still very tired, and out of sorts, but your stomach seems to have regained some semblance of proper working order.
dad
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
emergency
Dylan,
It's Tuesday night and you're in bed asleep. Our fingers are crossed, hoping you'll get a good night of sleep without vomiting up the grape-flavored pedialyte we finally got our hands on.
The last 48, wait, make that 49 hours have been hard. After spewing all your dinner Sunday you threw up again in the middle of the night. Mommy got up and cleaned everything while I slept through it.
All day Monday you were out of sorts, unable to hold down even a teaspoon of fluids, heaving nine or ten times throughout the day -- sometimes even when you'd ingested nothing since the last stinky episode. Mom stayed home with you, towels at the ready in every room. Uncharasterically, you sat sedately on the living room floor for long stretches, uninterested in your toys. You even took a 2 hour and 45 minute nap.
The Advice Nurse said "blah, blah, blah" and we followed her instructions, but after almost 27 hours of no effective food or drink, at about 10:30pm we decided it was time for your first trip to an Emergency Room.
We thought about the hospital closest to the house, but decided the hospital where you were born, where your doctor is based, and where Mommy works was a better choice.
The waiting room was crowded, and an unsavory place to be. The employees sat behind thick panels of bullet-proof glass, with a permanent police presence -- they even moved in on one trouble-maker while the woman nearest us swore repeatedly under her breath, complaining about waiting more than five hours for pain killers.
After nearly two hours, and a scouting expedition to the other ER, we moved to a new, cleaner, friendlier, and sparsely-populated waiting room at the hospital we originally passed over. It was a good move -- they didn't have to reach through a small rectangular opening in the safety glass to take your temperature. In fact, they appeared entirely unprepared for gun violence.
Even in a well-lit room, however, it was stressful to see you suffering. Hot and dry, you smacked your parched mouth in vain hopes of finding another drop of saliva in there somewhere. Wisely, Mom sent me home to get some sleep. It was almost 6:30am when she called for a ride home, exhausted.
Meanwhile, they'd poked, prodded, and probed you. From the rectal thermometer to the IV to the catheterization it was a slew of new firsts. All things considered, you didn't look too bad, and you suffered gracefully. One nurse (at 3:30 in the morning, **AFTER** being instructed to start an IV), had the gall to suggest that you "didn't look that bad" and probably didn't need it!!! But when the doctor got your test results back he was "this close to admitting" you for more care.
So you spent another day at home with Mom while I went to work. You both went to Grandma's house for some TLC and got much needed naps. You managed to hold down the stingy bits of fluid they doled out for much of the day, but around five o'clock you gave most of it the old heave-ho. As much as you clearly wanted food and drink, you picked an odd time to get picky -- refusing to drink either the pedialyte or the gatorade -- all the while jabbing your index finger into your opposite palm asking for "more", as in "more options, please".
The discovery of grape-flavored pedialyte was a relief. You'd've sucked down a pint of the stuff, I'm sure, given the chance. You've been down now for two hours and all seems well. We're not over the hump yet, but tomorrow is a whole new day.
Dad
It's Tuesday night and you're in bed asleep. Our fingers are crossed, hoping you'll get a good night of sleep without vomiting up the grape-flavored pedialyte we finally got our hands on.
The last 48, wait, make that 49 hours have been hard. After spewing all your dinner Sunday you threw up again in the middle of the night. Mommy got up and cleaned everything while I slept through it.
All day Monday you were out of sorts, unable to hold down even a teaspoon of fluids, heaving nine or ten times throughout the day -- sometimes even when you'd ingested nothing since the last stinky episode. Mom stayed home with you, towels at the ready in every room. Uncharasterically, you sat sedately on the living room floor for long stretches, uninterested in your toys. You even took a 2 hour and 45 minute nap.
The Advice Nurse said "blah, blah, blah" and we followed her instructions, but after almost 27 hours of no effective food or drink, at about 10:30pm we decided it was time for your first trip to an Emergency Room.
We thought about the hospital closest to the house, but decided the hospital where you were born, where your doctor is based, and where Mommy works was a better choice.
The waiting room was crowded, and an unsavory place to be. The employees sat behind thick panels of bullet-proof glass, with a permanent police presence -- they even moved in on one trouble-maker while the woman nearest us swore repeatedly under her breath, complaining about waiting more than five hours for pain killers.
After nearly two hours, and a scouting expedition to the other ER, we moved to a new, cleaner, friendlier, and sparsely-populated waiting room at the hospital we originally passed over. It was a good move -- they didn't have to reach through a small rectangular opening in the safety glass to take your temperature. In fact, they appeared entirely unprepared for gun violence.
Even in a well-lit room, however, it was stressful to see you suffering. Hot and dry, you smacked your parched mouth in vain hopes of finding another drop of saliva in there somewhere. Wisely, Mom sent me home to get some sleep. It was almost 6:30am when she called for a ride home, exhausted.
Meanwhile, they'd poked, prodded, and probed you. From the rectal thermometer to the IV to the catheterization it was a slew of new firsts. All things considered, you didn't look too bad, and you suffered gracefully. One nurse (at 3:30 in the morning, **AFTER** being instructed to start an IV), had the gall to suggest that you "didn't look that bad" and probably didn't need it!!! But when the doctor got your test results back he was "this close to admitting" you for more care.
So you spent another day at home with Mom while I went to work. You both went to Grandma's house for some TLC and got much needed naps. You managed to hold down the stingy bits of fluid they doled out for much of the day, but around five o'clock you gave most of it the old heave-ho. As much as you clearly wanted food and drink, you picked an odd time to get picky -- refusing to drink either the pedialyte or the gatorade -- all the while jabbing your index finger into your opposite palm asking for "more", as in "more options, please".
The discovery of grape-flavored pedialyte was a relief. You'd've sucked down a pint of the stuff, I'm sure, given the chance. You've been down now for two hours and all seems well. We're not over the hump yet, but tomorrow is a whole new day.
Dad
Sunday, January 14, 2007
barf II
Dylan,
You threw up again. Just after finishing your bedtime bottle (shortly after your bath) you tossed your cookies all over Mommy as she was no doubt enjoying the last minutes of cuddle time before putting you in the crib for the night.
You ate a lot for dinner. First some tofu, then a little colby/jack cheese followed by an entire whole wheat tortilla (yeah, we backed off on the habanero & sun dried tomato -- they cranked up the heat level and we've been scared to give 'em to ya since.) Then you ate some potatoes, some green beans, and some broccoli stems. We figure the 8 oz of milk that poured in on top of all that was just too far over the fill line, so it all had to re-surface.
The good news is that you and Mommy caught pretty much all of it, so the carpet didn't get too messed up. Of course, you were both wearing fleece, ugh.
We got your clothes off, repeated the wash cycle, fed you some rice cereal w/ bananas, gave you another bottle, and put you right to sleep.
Then...
We realized that even though the milk was dated Jan 25, it smells a bit sour.
Now we're just hoping you can hold out til morning. Uh oh, I hear noises...
You threw up again. Just after finishing your bedtime bottle (shortly after your bath) you tossed your cookies all over Mommy as she was no doubt enjoying the last minutes of cuddle time before putting you in the crib for the night.
You ate a lot for dinner. First some tofu, then a little colby/jack cheese followed by an entire whole wheat tortilla (yeah, we backed off on the habanero & sun dried tomato -- they cranked up the heat level and we've been scared to give 'em to ya since.) Then you ate some potatoes, some green beans, and some broccoli stems. We figure the 8 oz of milk that poured in on top of all that was just too far over the fill line, so it all had to re-surface.
The good news is that you and Mommy caught pretty much all of it, so the carpet didn't get too messed up. Of course, you were both wearing fleece, ugh.
We got your clothes off, repeated the wash cycle, fed you some rice cereal w/ bananas, gave you another bottle, and put you right to sleep.
Then...
We realized that even though the milk was dated Jan 25, it smells a bit sour.
Now we're just hoping you can hold out til morning. Uh oh, I hear noises...
Thursday, January 11, 2007
breakthrough
Dylan,
Yesterday you made the big change we've been waiting for. We were back at Grandma and Grandpa's house and you were just walking all over the place. Walking in circles, going around the table, stopping to bend down and pick things up, and generally get from point A to point B.
Dad
Yesterday you made the big change we've been waiting for. We were back at Grandma and Grandpa's house and you were just walking all over the place. Walking in circles, going around the table, stopping to bend down and pick things up, and generally get from point A to point B.
Dad
Monday, January 08, 2007
whining
Dylan,
Sometimes you whine a lot. Or you bark like a seal when there's something you want. It gets old.
Dad
Sometimes you whine a lot. Or you bark like a seal when there's something you want. It gets old.
Dad
walking
Dylan,
You've started walking.
On Christmas day while we were opening gifts with all the local family in attendance you stood up and walked over to the tree. It was a nice event to share and it fit the mood of the day very well.
You did a little walking for the family up in Seattle while we visited over the next several days but you still haven't embraced it as your preferred method of locomotion.
Your buddy Dylan J. was just moved up to the "walkers" room at daycare last week, so you two won't be re-united until you prove you're steady on your feet.
I put some real shoes on your feet yesterday before we went to the park. They seemed useful for the terrain, though you did catch the rubber soles a time or two on the way down the slide.
Dad
You've started walking.
On Christmas day while we were opening gifts with all the local family in attendance you stood up and walked over to the tree. It was a nice event to share and it fit the mood of the day very well.
You did a little walking for the family up in Seattle while we visited over the next several days but you still haven't embraced it as your preferred method of locomotion.
Your buddy Dylan J. was just moved up to the "walkers" room at daycare last week, so you two won't be re-united until you prove you're steady on your feet.
I put some real shoes on your feet yesterday before we went to the park. They seemed useful for the terrain, though you did catch the rubber soles a time or two on the way down the slide.
Dad
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
names
Dylan,
I just came across a list of ideas that Mom and I were working from when we chose your moniker. It's actually several lists and it looks something like this:
FIRST
Dylan
Dorian
Zachary/Zacharias
Mattias
Zeke
Eli
Tobias
Owen
Quenton
Tanner
Anton
Jasper
Braden
Carson
Grady
Alistair
MIDDLE
Casa
Phoenix
Sirius
Prefontaine
SHORT LIST
Dylan
Eli
Zachary
Owen
Tanner
Jasper
Braden
Grady
SHORTER LIST
Dylan
Elias
Zachary
Owen
Braden
Grady
We'd obviously put a lot more effort into first names than middle ones, and hadn't yet settled on, or probably even considered, Miles, which we both took to very quickly. Missing from this list are Davis (a favorite of mine, middle or first) and Jace (which Mom suggested repeatedly, but I steadfastly refused to consider).
Tonight when I showed the list to Mom she looked it up and down before quickly saying "We picked the right one". "He could have been a Phoenix" she added.
Names are funny things. We identify with them so much that they begin to inform us of who we are sometimes. You are a G because that is the name of your father, and of his father before him. But Your great-great-grandfather wasn't named G. It was his son, Ivan, who traded for his step-father's name, shedding either Butler or Turner (I forget) in the process.
In time I hope you'll understand that you are not defined by Dylan Miles G. Rather, Dylan Miles G is defined by you.
Dad
I just came across a list of ideas that Mom and I were working from when we chose your moniker. It's actually several lists and it looks something like this:
FIRST
Dylan
Dorian
Zachary/Zacharias
Mattias
Zeke
Eli
Tobias
Owen
Quenton
Tanner
Anton
Jasper
Braden
Carson
Grady
Alistair
MIDDLE
Casa
Phoenix
Sirius
Prefontaine
SHORT LIST
Dylan
Eli
Zachary
Owen
Tanner
Jasper
Braden
Grady
SHORTER LIST
Dylan
Elias
Zachary
Owen
Braden
Grady
We'd obviously put a lot more effort into first names than middle ones, and hadn't yet settled on, or probably even considered, Miles, which we both took to very quickly. Missing from this list are Davis (a favorite of mine, middle or first) and Jace (which Mom suggested repeatedly, but I steadfastly refused to consider).
Tonight when I showed the list to Mom she looked it up and down before quickly saying "We picked the right one". "He could have been a Phoenix" she added.
Names are funny things. We identify with them so much that they begin to inform us of who we are sometimes. You are a G because that is the name of your father, and of his father before him. But Your great-great-grandfather wasn't named G. It was his son, Ivan, who traded for his step-father's name, shedding either Butler or Turner (I forget) in the process.
In time I hope you'll understand that you are not defined by Dylan Miles G. Rather, Dylan Miles G is defined by you.
Dad
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