tidbit

d,

You sang Happy Birthday to yourself while you ate oatmeal this morning. It included the line "Happy birthday to... years old".

dad

angry

Dylan,

"All done angry?"
"All done angry?"

You weren't cooperating the other day. You were in a precocious mood and started taking playful swipes at my glasses -- one of which took them right off my face.

I told you it made me angry when you did that. It's not a word I normally use with you, but you seem to have gotten a good understanding of it from somewhere.

You backed off, and with your hands together and your head tilted a bit to one side you asked: "all done, all done angry?"

I asked if you were all done hitting me.

"All done angry?"
"All done angry?"

I asked again, and you answered "yes".

"All done angry."
"All done angry."
I said.


Dad

29 lbs

d-

By the way, the official Dr.'s office results have you listed at just 29 pounds (I've been telling people 33-34) and you're 35 inches tall.


dad

very very proud

Dylan,

Mom just called and gave me an update following your doctor appointment this afternoon. She told me how proud she was of you because you did a better job handling that sort of ordeal than she does.

You got two shots in the leg and a blood draw to check your iron level. You stared at the doctor while she checked your mouth, nose, eyes and what all. Then you earned serious trooper points for going down to the lab and enduring another blood draw. Mom was worried because you started the afternoon by waking up early from your nap and at the lab there was nobody to help hold you still if needed. She warned you of one more "poke poke", and you squirmed at first, but then patiently watched the vial fill with your precious red stuff.

Now you're off to the park to play until dark. Hopefully you'll be in a good mood when Uncle James comes over for dinner.

Dad

train story

Dylan,

Mommy used a recent bedtime cuddle session to tell you an impromptu story about a train. So enthralling was this story that you were telling me bits about it -- complete with hand signs -- while I was putting you to bed.

The story has become part of your routine, and it has grown in length and scope. You tell me about the "train that stops" (to pick up little boys and girls and teddy bears and take them over a bridge and into the land of night-night) and has a funnel for steam, and is black. It is real to you like no other story you've been told.

I can hear Mommy right now wrapping up the story, and your subdued voice echoing the colorful details here and there. Time for me to step into your darkened room and give my eyes a chance to adjust before Mom brings you in.

Dad

drawing board