Dylan,
You've started eating sandwiches. This is something I hadn't thought before to view as a milestone.
Dad
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
inside the lines
Dylan,
Seemingly upon instinct alone, you've begun coloring inside the lines.
Someone might draw a shape or a matrix of cells on your paper and you'll choose a bordered area to carefully fill with the color of your choice.
Dad
Seemingly upon instinct alone, you've begun coloring inside the lines.
Someone might draw a shape or a matrix of cells on your paper and you'll choose a bordered area to carefully fill with the color of your choice.
Dad
Sunday, October 28, 2007
cuddles
Dylan,
Right now you're snuggling with Mommy.
You think you're being sneaky and delaying your bath. I had just told you the bath was ready and it was time for you to take off your clothes. You responded with "Where Mommy go?". I said she was laying on the bed, just two feet away.
"Cuddles?"
This was a new take on essentially the same maneuver you pull with me sometimes while I'm getting you dressed for bed and you say "Hug?" in a sheepish little voice with matching eyes.
I'm sure in your little head you know that Mommy likes her cuddles and Daddy likes his hugs, and you think you're pulling one over on us -- manipulating a weakness to buy time -- but I'll tell it to ya straight: Dylan, you can use that tactic all you like. If you want to hug me for 10 minutes between putting on your onesie and your sleeper, fine. If you want to cuddle for an hour before bedtime, Mommy's fingers stroking your angel hair, that's fine too. We'll take it while we can get it.
A voluntary hug from you, even as a delay tactic, is invariably a life-defining moment. Your hug could plant a kernel of love even in the heart of darkness. Like a journalist fresh out of school it nails the Who, the What, the When, the Where, and especially the Why. Of pretty much everything.
Good night,
Daddy
Right now you're snuggling with Mommy.
You think you're being sneaky and delaying your bath. I had just told you the bath was ready and it was time for you to take off your clothes. You responded with "Where Mommy go?". I said she was laying on the bed, just two feet away.
"Cuddles?"
This was a new take on essentially the same maneuver you pull with me sometimes while I'm getting you dressed for bed and you say "Hug?" in a sheepish little voice with matching eyes.
I'm sure in your little head you know that Mommy likes her cuddles and Daddy likes his hugs, and you think you're pulling one over on us -- manipulating a weakness to buy time -- but I'll tell it to ya straight: Dylan, you can use that tactic all you like. If you want to hug me for 10 minutes between putting on your onesie and your sleeper, fine. If you want to cuddle for an hour before bedtime, Mommy's fingers stroking your angel hair, that's fine too. We'll take it while we can get it.
A voluntary hug from you, even as a delay tactic, is invariably a life-defining moment. Your hug could plant a kernel of love even in the heart of darkness. Like a journalist fresh out of school it nails the Who, the What, the When, the Where, and especially the Why. Of pretty much everything.
Good night,
Daddy
Monday, October 22, 2007
farming
Dylan,
You recently wrapped up a "Toddlers on The Farm" program at "Uncle Marc's Farm". You spent a couple hours one day a week touring different aspects of their operation and interacting with the cow, sheep, goats, chickens and roosters, and pigs. It was a very special experience and you loved it.
Your farm visits are one of the many outings, classes, programs, activities, experiences and play dates Mommy has lined up and cobbled together as an expansive and colorful backdrop for your earliest years. Be sure to thank her someday that you turned out so well.
Dad
You recently wrapped up a "Toddlers on The Farm" program at "Uncle Marc's Farm". You spent a couple hours one day a week touring different aspects of their operation and interacting with the cow, sheep, goats, chickens and roosters, and pigs. It was a very special experience and you loved it.
Your farm visits are one of the many outings, classes, programs, activities, experiences and play dates Mommy has lined up and cobbled together as an expansive and colorful backdrop for your earliest years. Be sure to thank her someday that you turned out so well.
Dad
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
endo
Dylan,
Moments ago you went over the handlebars of your bike for the first time. Well, sort of over them. More like onto them, really.
See, you've (finally) grown just barely enough to propel yourself slowly forward on your little hand-me-down bicycle from Emma and Ian by rubbing the toes of your shoes against the ground one at a time, left right left right.
We had tootled down the sidewalk as far as nearly two whole front yards where we stopped to admire the neighbors aging piles of small landscaping rocks and were on our way home again. You got off balance, then a little tangled, then the bike went down and brought you with it.
You landed over one side of the now slightly twisted handlebars. I picked you up. You were crying and I asked where it hurt. You pointed to the bike. I righted your mount, identified it's owie, and straightened things out with the tiny front tire between my feet, a grip in one hand and you in the other.
Then I carried you both home.
Dad
Moments ago you went over the handlebars of your bike for the first time. Well, sort of over them. More like onto them, really.
See, you've (finally) grown just barely enough to propel yourself slowly forward on your little hand-me-down bicycle from Emma and Ian by rubbing the toes of your shoes against the ground one at a time, left right left right.
We had tootled down the sidewalk as far as nearly two whole front yards where we stopped to admire the neighbors aging piles of small landscaping rocks and were on our way home again. You got off balance, then a little tangled, then the bike went down and brought you with it.
You landed over one side of the now slightly twisted handlebars. I picked you up. You were crying and I asked where it hurt. You pointed to the bike. I righted your mount, identified it's owie, and straightened things out with the tiny front tire between my feet, a grip in one hand and you in the other.
Then I carried you both home.
Dad
Thursday, October 11, 2007
igotchoo
Dylan,
You love to run around the house and get tickled.
"Running?" you'll walk up to me and say when you want to be chased around the house, me catching and tickling you every so often.
Through your wild, cackling and winded laughter I'll regularly hear you saying "igotchoo, igotchoo".
Dad
You love to run around the house and get tickled.
"Running?" you'll walk up to me and say when you want to be chased around the house, me catching and tickling you every so often.
Through your wild, cackling and winded laughter I'll regularly hear you saying "igotchoo, igotchoo".
Dad
backwards
Dylan,
Last night you wanted me to give you a timeout, and you threw a fit when I refused. That's not how it's supposed to work.
Dad
Last night you wanted me to give you a timeout, and you threw a fit when I refused. That's not how it's supposed to work.
Dad
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
proportions
Dylan,
You've got a long torso and arms. Your legs are a step behind. The other day you were wearing a '3T' shirt with '18 mo.' pants and everything fit just right.
There can be a real benefit to a low center of gravity in certain competitive sports, like soccer. A long reach can make all the difference to a boxer. And the combination of the two can set a wrestler apart.
Just sayin'.
Dad
You've got a long torso and arms. Your legs are a step behind. The other day you were wearing a '3T' shirt with '18 mo.' pants and everything fit just right.
There can be a real benefit to a low center of gravity in certain competitive sports, like soccer. A long reach can make all the difference to a boxer. And the combination of the two can set a wrestler apart.
Just sayin'.
Dad
Sunday, October 07, 2007
pumpkin patch
Dad,
Last year Mom took you to see the pumpkins. I guess this was my turn. They had bounce-houses set up and after 20 minutes of jumping you ran from cluster to cluster checking out, and eventually choosing from, the pumpkins.
Dad
Last year Mom took you to see the pumpkins. I guess this was my turn. They had bounce-houses set up and after 20 minutes of jumping you ran from cluster to cluster checking out, and eventually choosing from, the pumpkins.
Dad
poop
Dylan,
A few weeks ago it occurred to me to show you the contents of your poopy diaper.
I don't remember now if you showed some kind of interest that triggered it, but I realized that you may have never actually seen your own poop. While you were certainly already aware of poop on some level, your seeing it seemed to me a step on the path toward potty-training.
I think you were fairly fascinated. In the days since, you've been much more cooperative about changing a poopy diaper. I think the dreaded discomfort of wet-wipes is outweighed by your curiosity. Now at the suggestion of a diaper change you'll walk yourself right to the changing table and ask, "See it?"
More often than not you'll say, "Big". I think you're either comparing it to the cat poop I recently showed you in our front yard, or I called one of 'em "big" and you just think that's the thing to say.
We've started reading the book "Everyone Poops", which was given to me by my bowling teammates, mostly for laughs, shortly before you were born. We also saw a bear poop (in the middle of a fight) in a video on YouTube and you've mentioned it a couple times since. In part, I'm sure, because I re-played that section and pointed it out to you.
It'll probably be a good while before you're self-sufficient in the elimination department, but awareness has to be at least a step towards progress.
Dad
A few weeks ago it occurred to me to show you the contents of your poopy diaper.
I don't remember now if you showed some kind of interest that triggered it, but I realized that you may have never actually seen your own poop. While you were certainly already aware of poop on some level, your seeing it seemed to me a step on the path toward potty-training.
I think you were fairly fascinated. In the days since, you've been much more cooperative about changing a poopy diaper. I think the dreaded discomfort of wet-wipes is outweighed by your curiosity. Now at the suggestion of a diaper change you'll walk yourself right to the changing table and ask, "See it?"
More often than not you'll say, "Big". I think you're either comparing it to the cat poop I recently showed you in our front yard, or I called one of 'em "big" and you just think that's the thing to say.
We've started reading the book "Everyone Poops", which was given to me by my bowling teammates, mostly for laughs, shortly before you were born. We also saw a bear poop (in the middle of a fight) in a video on YouTube and you've mentioned it a couple times since. In part, I'm sure, because I re-played that section and pointed it out to you.
It'll probably be a good while before you're self-sufficient in the elimination department, but awareness has to be at least a step towards progress.
Dad
dirt
Dylan,
This evening I sat across the yard and watched you play in a huge wooden dirt-filled planter. You had a few small (maybe 12 oz) pots, a plastic soup container (probably from Yaya's house) and a blue shovel.
Scoop and dump, scoop and dump you went, slowly filling the large container just to dump it out, then transferring dirt from one small container to another. You were methodical, if not efficient.
Only a child or an artist can move with such purpose in the production of nothing useful.
I'm sure you spent 15 minutes in silence, fully engaged, your synapses firing away smoothly and constantly, just moving tiny bits of earth. Your plastic, battery-powered noisemakers and sundry "educational" toys -- rarely earning such devotion-- are unable to compete with a few gallons of old potting soil.
A boy, playing in the dirt and seeming right at home. It made my day.
Dad
This evening I sat across the yard and watched you play in a huge wooden dirt-filled planter. You had a few small (maybe 12 oz) pots, a plastic soup container (probably from Yaya's house) and a blue shovel.
Scoop and dump, scoop and dump you went, slowly filling the large container just to dump it out, then transferring dirt from one small container to another. You were methodical, if not efficient.
Only a child or an artist can move with such purpose in the production of nothing useful.
I'm sure you spent 15 minutes in silence, fully engaged, your synapses firing away smoothly and constantly, just moving tiny bits of earth. Your plastic, battery-powered noisemakers and sundry "educational" toys -- rarely earning such devotion-- are unable to compete with a few gallons of old potting soil.
A boy, playing in the dirt and seeming right at home. It made my day.
Dad
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
it's late
It's late. At least by Dylan standards.
You're currently in the next room, standing in your crib and crying for "daddy".
You were sound asleep when I went in for the customary nighttime check. After a very fussy evening you cried yourself to sleep three hours ago. Unfortunately, you also managed to poop. The room stunk.
I made the decision to get you into a new diaper.
It went pretty well, all things considered, with a very minimum of fussing until Mom -- who had been holding a tiny flashlight in my aid -- left the room while I slid your feet back into your jammies and zipped you up.
I got you back into the regular routine -- snuggled up in my arms listening to me sing your three songs -- which I stretched out extra-long until you had been still and comfy for a convincing while.
I told you it was night-night time and moved to place you in the crib. You curled your little self around me like never before, resisting, squeezing my rib cage with your knees and elbows so tightly you may have stayed there even had I let go.
I felt as precious to you as you are to me.
dad
You're currently in the next room, standing in your crib and crying for "daddy".
You were sound asleep when I went in for the customary nighttime check. After a very fussy evening you cried yourself to sleep three hours ago. Unfortunately, you also managed to poop. The room stunk.
I made the decision to get you into a new diaper.
It went pretty well, all things considered, with a very minimum of fussing until Mom -- who had been holding a tiny flashlight in my aid -- left the room while I slid your feet back into your jammies and zipped you up.
I got you back into the regular routine -- snuggled up in my arms listening to me sing your three songs -- which I stretched out extra-long until you had been still and comfy for a convincing while.
I told you it was night-night time and moved to place you in the crib. You curled your little self around me like never before, resisting, squeezing my rib cage with your knees and elbows so tightly you may have stayed there even had I let go.
I felt as precious to you as you are to me.
dad
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