Christmas eve

Christmas is different as a parent. Especially when your kid is old enough to appreciate presents. The excitement of it all is now so externalized: I'm so looking forward to sharing his Christmas morning with him that I've become almost disinterested in (or at least not actively thinking about) what the day portends for me. It pales to insignificance.

I guess if your heart is going to walk around outside your body, you might as well live vicariously through it, eh?

whispering pirate

Dylan,

Out for dinner to celebrate Yaya's birthday (over huge servings of tasty Afghan food) Aunt Lisa commented on the argyle pattern across the front of your sweater. Soon, at your request, Uncle Marc was up and showing you his argyle socks.

At the mention of the word "pirate" you responded with a hearty, swashbuckling "ARRRRG-YLE" to the amusement of the entire table. Recognizing amidst the adult reaction that you'd found a real winner, you decided to play that card again and again, instinctively emboldened to ratchet up the volume to full.

Back in his chair across the large table from you, while the rest of us were just starting to worry about the bucaneering fear you might strike in the hearts of other patrons, Marc had the quick sense to ask if you could "say that like a whispering pirate". Without missing a beat you leaned your face in over your plate and laid down a quietly jolly 'arrrrg-yle' to pleased faces all around.

Dad

cooking solo

Dylan,

"When I am a grown up I will be able to cook all by myself. And I can heat up cheerios".

Looking forward to it.


Dad

sizewise

Doctor says you weigh 35 pounds and stand 39.5" tall. According to the Children's Growth Chart Percentile Calculator...:

At 3 years and 1 months:

your child is 35 pounds, and that is
at the 78th percentile for weight.

your child is 39.5 inches, and that is
at the 86th percentile for height.

dangerous mind

Dylan,

While reading a bedtime story about Andy the Anteater, you just mentioned Polly's Pancake Parlor. That doesn't sound too significant until you consider that Polly's is a little breakfast place in Sugar Hill, New Hampshire where we ate one morning in October of this year and it hasn't been a topic of conversation since.

http://www.pollyspancakeparlor.com

You seem to have a pretty good memory.


Dad

bear dreams

Dylan,

You came running into our room this morning around 6:30, scampering onto the bed like a frightened animal then snuggling in with Mommy. I asked what scared you and you denied being scared.

Over breakfast I asked why you had come running so fast into our room. Because you thought Mommy was going to take all your pens and color with them, I heard you say.

"No," you corrected me, "she was going to take all my bears and cuddle with them."

I guess you were just trying to keep Mom pinned down.


Dad

blindfolded

Dylan,

I arrived to pick you up from school and found you blindfolded, removing and replacing cylinders of graduated circumferences and heights into matching serialized holes in a length of wood.

As you felt your way with your hands, the very sense of exploration was itself palpable.

What a great idea.


Dad

fire drill

Dylan,

Ever since your recent fire drill at school you've been rather fixated on it, bringing it up again and again for about three weeks now. You tell us about the fire drill. You tell us we're going to have a fire drill at home, or that we already have. You say it was a "pretend" fire drill, and that in a real fire we need to get out onto the grass in a hurry. And that we're going to have a fire drill in Mexico when we're there on vacation.

You've also been pointing out the "smoke protectors" around the house, eventually learning to distinguish them from the heating vents.

You've told most every visitor to the house about your fire drill, and brought it up in almost every house we've visited. You even brought it up at your birthday party, which was outdoors.

You don't seem traumatized by it, but clearly impressed and even fascinated.


Dad

dichotomies

"Cooperate, or struggle?"

"You do it, or I will do it."

"I make rules, you make decisions."

"Choose, or lose your opportunity."

For posterity.

assertive

Dylan,

In a brief phone conference several weeks ago your teacher, while giving us our first review of your time at your new school described you as, among other things, "assertive". That's accurate, and I'm glad of it.

I think you'll find many many times in your life a choice to either define yourself or be defined by what others think (Note: It can take a long time to recognize these, so don't feel bad if you only start to notice them in retrospect). Stay assertive. Be yourself, and don't be fooled into thinking you are whoever other people think you are.


Dad

twenty

Dylan,

You're three years old now. It's a milestone we've built up as a sort of coming-of-age, officially marking you as a Big Boy and bringing with it the little benefits thereof, like being allowed to eat honey, and some big things too, like graduating out of Pull-Ups (which you did as soon as your party was finished on Saturday, at least for waking hours).

You went through plenty of clothes the next couple days, including three pairs of pants by 10am yesterday. By today, however, you made it morning 'til night without an "accident" and the stickers on your "potty chart" reflect twenty successful trips to the facilities in less than 72 hours. I think you're getting the hang of this pretty quickly.

I'm proud of you.


Dad

optimism

When asked if a partially drained glass is half full or half empty, you've never failed to claim the former, and without a hint of reservation.

reading

Dylan,

Mom was playing a game with you tonight that involved practicing letter sounds. Looking at one of the cards you said: "juh, ahh, err. Jar!"

You've officially read your first word before turning even three years old!

Dad

excellence

Dylan,

Develop a taste for excellence in what you do. It will leave you frustrated when you don't achieve it -- which will be often -- but it will lead you places you might otherwise never make it to.


Dad

go like this

Dylan,

You've become a big fan of having your back rubbed, but only at bedtime. In the dark of your room you routinely pull your jammie shirt up as a kind of clue, then I hear you say, "go like this" clearly unaware that I can neither see nor feel your instructions as you try to show exactly how you want it done. Fortunately for you, I've learned your undying preference is for the same slow-moving, fingertip-only 'tickle rub' that I asked my dad for when he rubbed my back to help me fall asleep when I was little.

monsters

D,

You make frequent references to monsters. They come in a variety of types and contexts, and I haven't had much luck convincing you they don't really exist.


Dad

Prom date

November 2005

December 2005

Labor Day 2007

Labor Day 2008


It's been a running joke since you were born 16 hours apart- although really the comments started while you two were in utero. So far you have proven to be no match for Zoe. Having an older brother, she has mastered the art of manipulation early and generally leaves you crying in her wake. However, as Uncle Marc will attest to, you have to watch out for those childhood girl friends who push your buttons.

Mom

Busy busy

October has literally snuck up on me. You kept saying something to me earlier this week about "Octember", and when I tried to correct you with October, you insisted on the former. I totally missed that warning. Driving to work this morning one of the side streets had those "no parking 10-01-08" signs posted everywhere. There were in fact no cars parked anywhere and I thought to myself how funny it was that people saw the sign and automatically didn't park... without bothering to see that the date wasn't until October 1. News flash!!! It IS October 1st. A quick glance at my watch once I got to work set me straight, and really surprised me. Which brings me to the point of this whole thought. It's been almost a month since we last made an entry!

Where did September go? In many different directions. It seems that September was even busier than the summer.

Despite the lack of entries, your new routine of daily preschool has meant you come home almost daily with a new "thing" to share. From the story about the Wright Brothers searching for the correct propeller to make the first flying machine move forward, to the "skip to my lou" song complete with verbal instruction and demonstration on how to skip, to discussions about how to properly carry a pitcher of water to the table (slowly, with two hands), to talk about Africa and Asia, to today's serenade of the "Dylan dylan bo bylan Banana-fana fo fana....."
song complete with many other classmates names inserted appropriately, your little mind is filling up with new things, and you're kind enough to give us little glimpses.

Since I don't get a chance to see what goes on in the classroom, your teacher called the other day to give me the run down. I was glad to hear you wait your turn to do things, as you are not so patient in the social settings I see. She mentioned you are very interested in many things, you're very verbal, you really like the practical life work (as evidenced by your insistence on helping me every time I'm in the kitchen doing anything), and you have generally adjusted very well to the teaching style. The word "assertive" was used to describe you. Somehow that word puts a positive spin on the behavior I might describe a bit differently.

Your teacher asked us to help work on slowing you down at home, as you like to run to your next activity and do things too quickly at school. She says she tries to emphasize that it's not a race, and the process, not product is more important. Very Montessori for sure. I had to laugh at this, as I'm pretty sure that left to your own devices it would take you at least two hours to get dressed in the morning, at least two hours to complete every meal, and a half hour to get in and out of the car, EVERY TIME. Yes, moving quickly is certainly not a frequently exemplified skill at home. At least not without a serious amount of prodding.

I do miss our Wednesday and Thursday mornings together, and though I have found ways to fit those activities we used to do together into your now quite busy schedule, it is not the same. There is little time to just relax, go with the flow, and see what the day brings. That is reserved for those rare weekend days where we don't have any previous commitments. Weekdays are scheduled from wake-up to bed-time. And so it begins, before you even turn three.

plaid

Dylan,

Today, after wrapping up your first half week as a full-timer at your new Montessori school, you came home and informed us that you were wearing a plaid shirt.

"It's plaid because it has lines that go this way and lines that go that way", you explained with the help of a contortionist's arm movements.

Mom says yesterday you reported your teacher had worn a "floral print" dress. There's just no predicting what you'll learn on a given day!

You've also demonstrated for us once again your amazing ability to adjust to a new environment and new people. I remember having a harder time on my first day of kindergarten, and I was two full years older than you are!

We're feeling very good about what this school will provide.


Dad

Plaid and Cucumbers and Zuchini Pickles- Oh My!

Don't bother trying to figure out what these have in common. The answer is nothing, they're just three threads of thought I want to get in here before the day is over.

Plaid
Today, when we were playing at the park in the shade to avoid the 98 degree weather, you informed me you were wearing plaid. Somewhat out of context, I wasn't sure at first what exactly you were saying, but when you followed your statement with an explanation "the lines go this way (drawing vertical lines in the air with your no longer baby-ish fingers) and this way (now drawing horizontal lines in the air again with those little boy hands), and that makes it plaid" I realized I had in fact heard right. This morning, I chose to dress you in a light cotton button down shirt instead of the usual t-shirt cuz it's been so stinkin hot. I thought the thin cotton might keep you just the tiniest bit cooler. And yes, the shirt had a plaid pattern. Just yesterday you informed me your teacher's dress was "floral". Impressive adjectives for a not yet three year old. I look forward to next weeks new words.

Cucumbers
You are a cucumber fiend, and thanks to summer's bounty and Yaya's garden, you are free to happily munch on them for at least one meal daily. You can down a half in a sitting, and I'm not talking about no six inchers here. Armenian long, Japanese or english cucs, sixteen to eighteen inches is the norm. Yup that's right, eight to nine inches of sliced and quartered sweet, crisp cucumber goodness at a sitting. Between Yaya, our CSA, my garden, and our home veggie box delivery, the rest of the family gets their share too.
I'm not looking forward to the coming months when cuc production slows down and disappears. I can't bear to buy the ones in the store. Shipped in from Mexico or other faraway lands, they are rarely anything but whithered and waxy, and usually somewhat bitter.
Last winter there was one lone cucumber vendor at our local farmers market. The farmer used greenhouses to grow them organically, but their three to four dollars a pound price tag clearly demonstrates they're a seasonal treat. Even limiting myself to buying one or two per week last winter seemed like a somewhat ludicrous splurge. Hopefully your thirst for cucumbers will weather the winter and leave you waiting anxiously for next summers bounty to ripen. That might sound silly, but my childhood summers were punctuated by Yaya's garden fresh early girl tomatoes and burpless cucs tossed with salt and vinegar. Mmmm mmm good.
Never overestimate the power of simply fresh, simple good food.


Zuchini Pickles
Last summer I learned how to make very simple fridge pickles, but since you tend to eat up most of the cucs we have, I've ventured out into pickling some of summer's other pleantiful gifts. My latest experiment was zuchini. I'm always looking for ways to boost consumption of this pleantiful summer veggie. A few nights ago while I was munching through my most recent batch, you implored me for a taste. I somewhat hesitantly obliged, providing a warning regarding the taste. As you often do with foods I don't expect you to like, you asked for more. How could I say no...they're zuchinis!
Just yesterday you helped me pack up some bulk feta at the store, and informed me you wanted to have the feta for dinner. I tossed it with diced tomatoes from the garden, gypsy peppers, cucs and Kalamata olives, and you ate it right up.

You are a veggie-loving Mommy's dream.

Love,
Mom

rock on

Dylan,

You just ran from the dining room into the bedroom so you could put on your jammies and read two stories with Mom. From the table we could hear you reach your destination and yell "Rock On!".

Pretty sure that's a first for you.


Dad

hopscotch

Dylan,

We went for a walk this morning to mail some letters. On the way I learned that you've been introduced to hopscotch.



You found a strip of bricks to hop along.



And a place for me to play, too.

gutter talk

SO Big!

You started school this week. This picture makes me think it could have been kindergarten, but it's just preschool. Your school requires you to go 5 days a week. They have a two hour/day orientation for the first two weeks for all new students...to help the little guys get used to the new setting. The first day we arrived you walked down the alley-way with me, promptly dropped my hand and made your way to the play area. You never looked back.

There were kids clinging to parents, and parents clinging to kids, but I was empty-handed in just a matter of seconds. Because there were so many moms standing around, I asked the teacher if we were expected to stay. She said no, but just to let you know I was leaving and would be back to get you later. I knew you didn't need me to do it, but as a formality, I tracked you down and did just that. You gave me one of those, "Oh, you're still here?" looks, but happily gave me a hug before I was on my way. That was it, you were acclimatized.

When I went to pick you up just two hours later, you had a hard time understanding why I had come to get you so soon.

You're growing up fast.

Love, Mom

fever

Dylan,

You've had a low-grade fever the last couple of days. No other symptoms really, aside from some occasional lethargy and increased use of your "whiny voice".

Last night Mom and I stayed up past midnight watching the Olympics -- that Michael Phelps really is impressive. You got me up at six-oh-something this morning, asking for soy milk(!?)

You still felt hot all over. I got you some milk (a mixture of soy and cow's) and a small bowl of corn flakes. Then, contrary to your demand to sit with you at the table, I laid down on the couch in search of rest. A short time later, you climbed down off your chair and joined me on the couch -- having hardly touched your flakes -- where you tucked your head against my shoulder and we both slept for nearly an hour and a half.

Good times.


Dad

bear bedtime

Dylan,

We take your bears (well three of the four) and your warm blankets out of your crib at naptimes. It has lead to a tradition of putting the bears down for their own naps on the floor under the extra blankets before you climb into bed.

It's a great way to focus your attention and set your mood.

Today, Mom tells me that you picked up each bear from the floor one at a time and, cradling them in your arms, sang them the first verse of your night-night song before tucking them in.

To paraphrase something Papa Joe said long ago now, but that I think of often: "This child knows he's loved".

fly a kite

Dylan,

In a grocery store I passed by a small display of kites selling for $3.99 each. The idea of going kite-flying with you caught my imagination, but what really sealed the deal was the one kite featuring Thomas, the Tank Engine.

I tried for a while hiding the unopened kite from you, but you eventually came across it while rummaging through my closet. After that, I told you that we needed to wait for a windy day.

We waited and waited.

Several months later, we got our day. You didn't really fly it for all that long, but you did a great job, got a feel for it, and had a fun time.




Dad

belly bottom

D,

Sitting on the pot this evening before your bath, you were explaining to me -- while gesturing grandly -- the process of food going into your mouth and down to your tummy before the poop comes out of your "belly bottom".

A veritable Slim Goodbody*, you are.


Dad


*http://www.slimgoodbody.com/about

say hello to the buffalo

Dylan,

There is an English novelist/poet named Miles Gibson. I learned today that he has written some books for children, including "Say Hello to the Buffalo (and other animals)".

I think I might try to find you a copy.


Dad

"I don't like you"

Dylan,

You told me today that you don't like me.

My reaction was to dissuade you from using that statement as a tool, especially with your peers, so I told you it was a mean thing to say to someone.

What I wish I had done, with the benefit of some reflection, is to show you how it made me feel, or more to point, would have made me feel had I taken you at your word.

You see, later in the evening while we were getting ready for dinner you told me that Marieke (a girl at school) told you today that she didn't like you. In a moment of mild frustration, (I think) you tried out the same line on me to see what effect is would/should have. And what I did was to tell you it was 'bad', but not show you why. I inadvertently sent a dichotomized message that on one hand you need to be careful what you say, while on the other hand I can unilaterally void your words of meaning and simply blow them off as empty rhetoric. That's the kind of thing that'll make a kid wonder why they can't call someone an idiot if they're not going to a)believe it's true, or b)believe I really mean it?

I missed a teachable moment there.


Dad

squeeze

Dylan,

"I want... I want, you... I want, yoo-oo" you said at the breakfast table this morning after Mom had already headed out to work.

"You want me?"

"I want another hug."

"OK." I picked you up from your foam-rubber, butt-grooved, replication phone book of a booster seat and held you close, on my lap.

"Squeeze" you said. I wrapped my arms over every square inch of you I could cover, and squeezed you tightly, trying not to restrict your breathing too much or for too long.

"More squeeze" you responded when I let up.

I hugged you and squeezed you for a while. Then I sang you the "ants go marching" song while you could feel the vibrations of the "hurrah, hurrahs" and finally put you back on your booster seat to finish your oatmeal.


Dad

la lengua

Dylan,

You bite your tongue way more often than anybody's got business doin'.

Dad

UN Translator

Dylan,

You asked me tonight if I wanted to be a dentist when I grow up. I know that your class at school has been talking about such grand ambitions lately. You, unsurprisingly, want to be a "train".

Your camp counselors last week sent you home with a certificate declaring you a "Future UN Translator". They were quite taken, I know, by your dabbling in both Spanish and Sign language.

We've got a lot of work ahead of us to make sure you have as many options available to you as possible when it comes time to really make that decision for yourself, but so far I'm liking our trajectory.

Dad

why

Dylan,

You've reached one of those points we knew would come eventually: The "why?" stage.

Now suddenly everything we say is greeted with this simple query, as is the ensuing answer, and the answer after that and the answer after that. Why. Why. Why. Why. Why. It's almost not even a question, just a way to drive the conversation and keep an adult talking.

To a certain degree I enjoy at least the sheen of curiosity and so go along with it a few levels deep. But it's usually not long before I'm turning the question back on you, or telling you I think you already know the answer.
Dad

old house

Dylan,

We're inches away from reaching agreement to sell our house and move. You're taking the news in stride.

"This is our 'old' house" you said to me, your face not betraying any of the significance of the proceedings. Our search now begins in earnest for a "new" -- and better -- house for you to grow up in (for a while).

My parents never moved when I was growing up. I don't know what kind of memories you'll retain of the place. As significant as it's been in your life so far, it'll probably be relegated to the back of your mind like the oldest chapters in an unwritten history book, and mostly forgotten.

I'm glad we've got so many pictures and videos.

Dad

rules

Dylan,

One of our new favorite responses to your frequent questions is "Because that's the rule".

For now, at least, you're willing to accept that.

Dad

smallworld

Dylan,

One of the great things about Family Camp is that we get to dump you off on somebody else for a while and go do fun things.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not that you're some albatross around our necks or that we don't love having you around, but the truth is that you do -- as any two and a half year old would -- change our stride just a bit.

We've been taking you to Smallworld most days from about 9am til 3pm. You're sometimes upset when you have to leave. They've been taking good care of you; dutifully applying sunscreen, keeping your hat on when you go outside, and letting you romp endlessly in the ball pit.

After a couple of days you learned the route from our room to Smallworld. We probably could have shoved you out the door in the morning and trusted that you'd find your way there -- but we didn't.

big boy bed

Dylan,

Here at our "vacation home" (actually a college dormitory) you get your own room with two twin beds. At home you're still sleeping in your crib, so although we decided not to bring the Pack-N-Play with us (to conserve space for things like Mom's bicycle) we were still a little wary about you rolling off the side of a standard "big boy" bed. The floors here seem to be concrete under dense carpeting, with no pad.

Fortunately, there were extra bed rails available in your room, you know, the kind that would normally support one side of a mattress. We lowered the mattress on one of the beds, pushed it up against the higher bed, then added one of the extra rails just above mattress height -- with the actual ledge part facing outward -- to serve as a really great retaining wall. You even pointed to it and said: "That's to keep me from falling out".

You're doing a great job of sleeping (even napping) in the big bed. We're going to have to get you one of your own.


Dad

vacation

Dylan,

We're off on our much-anticipated vacation. I say "much-anticipated" because we inadvertently managed to build up your expectations so much that by Tuesday of last week you were reminding us when we drove places in the car that any non-vacation destination just wasn't going to be viewed as acceptable. "I wanna go on vacation, I wanna go on vacation, I wanna go on vacation" we were cordially -- and sometimes quite loudly -- informed.

We drove several hours to finally get here (your first long car-trip, by the way, and you did so very well we didn't even break out the portable DVD player we borrowed) and your focus never changed.

After we finally arrived, you and I took a long and leisurely walk to the beach while Mom headed to the store for a few things.

We're off to a good start.

Dad

just mom

Dylan,

It seems like only hours ago that I last heard you whine "I want my Mommy", although it's probably been more like days.

Tonight you seem to have suddenly crossed some kind of threshold: You've replace your use of "Mommy" with a very grown-up sounding "Mom".

When you yelled to her that you wanted more strawberries, you addressed your supplication to "Mom". I noticed something -- maturity perhaps -- in the sound of your voice then, but didn't realize what it was until an hour or so later.

When you hollered from the bathtub that you wanted her to remain at home rather than go for a run to the gym, it was "Mom" you implored to stay, not "Mommy".

Don't know what triggered it. Don't know if it'll change back tomorrow. I'll try to keep you posted.


Dad

advice

Dylan,

Always be mindful to not equate 'vulnerability' with 'weakness'.

Likewise, do not mistake 'simple' for 'easy', nor 'symmetry' for 'balance'.


Dad

underwear

Dylan,

You really didn't want to put on your Pull-Up this morning, so we struck a deal: You could put on some underwear (which you've gotten quite good at doing yourself), but only so long as you could keep them dry. Mom and I didn't expect that to be very long, but you managed to do it long enough that we all agreed you could wear them to school, too.

I packed an extra pair of pants.

You hadn't eaten much for breakfast, so Mom cut up a couple strawberries and put them in a container to eat from on the way to school. I laid down a plastic bag in your car seat, figuring you'd be wet before we reached our destination.

We got to school still dry and still packing plenty of strawberries so sat down together at one of the activity centers for the morning where you ate while I wrote "DYLAN MILES" in various color inks on a canvass of brown cardboard.

In little boy fashion, by the time you finished your hands and face were covered in strawberry juices. I urged you over to the sink to wash your hands and you, while now drying them, said a couple of times "I already did it". "You already washed your face?" I asked, since that's what I was just starting on. Then you looked down.

You were wet all the way into your socks. Even though we'd made a successful potty-stop just prior to leaving the house, the suggestive power of the forcefully running sink water was too much to overcome. I changed you into the extra pants and you donned your Pull-Up without objection.

Anyway, I think it might make good practice to put you in underwear every morning before school, at least for a while. We've been really inconsistent about that and I imagine that will continue to undercut progress.

wahduh

Dylan,

Maybe you're just boning up on your linguistics, but lately you've made a habit of parroting the speech impediments of your friends and classmates. A common manifestation is when you stop pronouncing your R's correctly. You'll ask for a glass of "wahduh" or tell me you can see a "hullicoptuh". I try to catch it every time and act like I can't understand you until you say "water" or "helicopter" the way I know you're capable of.


Dad

Miss America

Dylan,

You came home from school today singing a new song, consisting entirely of what I thought (and you confirmed) was "Miss America, Miss America, Miss America". You even told me who taught you the song at school, although I didn't quite understand or recognize the name.

You were still at it when Mommy got home and, hearing it differently, pressed for clarification. When asked whether you were singing "Miss America" or "Bless America" you clearly responded with the latter.

I told Mom that you also managed a fragment of the Pledge of Allegiance, which was new. You then knocked our socks off by reciting the whole pledge, top to bottom, with surprising ease.


Dad

big fish

D

We hung out at Charlie's house yesterday, playing with his toys. With his 11-month old sister around it was evident that you don't have enough experience with wee ones to know what the rules of engagement are. At various times you shoved her, took away her toys, tried to physically move her out of your way, and swatted and yelled at her.

Part of becoming a "big boy" is realizing that you're no longer the smallest fish in the pond and that with power comes responsibility.


Dad

Time together

Dylan,

You and I took a weekday off recently to get a trip to the aquarium in before school let out for the summer and brought with it the throngs of kids I find it easy to lose you in. It's been a whole year since we visited last, so you have no real memory of being there before. Your favorite place however, hasn't changed. I'm pretty sure you could spend the entire time within the water play area, but alas, Mommy gets a little bored eventually. It was a great day, and it was so fun to see you so much more interactive at all the exhibits compared to last year. You now have the attention span to stay and interact with those things you can see and touch, but not yet those that require text for learning.



Then, just a few days later, we went strawberry picking, and this time Dad joined us. You are an avid strawberry eater, and have waited patiently for it to be strawberry season, so you could eat your fill. In staying with the "eat fresh and local" philosophy I try to uphold, I had to explain to you many times in March and April why we couldn't buy the strawberries you saw in the store. Finally they arrived at our local farmers market and in our weekly veggie box, and I think it was worth the wait.

You have been known to down an entire basket at one sitting, though I try to limit you to half a basket on most occasions. For the self-pick outing we joined some friends for a strawberry picking fest and post harvest picnic. You and Dad worked together to find and pick only the ripest ones, and you patiently abstained from eating them on the spot as I insisted on washing them first. We even let you carry your own basket, though those eventually met with the dirt as you tripped at some point. No worries, those were washed and eaten by days end. We ended up with more than we needed, but a dinner trip to Yaya and Papa's, and a few bags in the freezer, and before we knew it, they were gone!



It is in retrospect I am reminded you continue to grow from almost every experience you are a part of, especially the unique ones. Everything you do is an opportunity to learn. I tell my new mommies at work that when their newborns are awake and alert they soak up everything they see, even if they aren't yet able to show it, they learn from every experience. You are still, at two-and-a-half, a sponge. That's amazing, yet scary.

Love,
Mom

kid dynamics

Dylan,

Today I paid you a visit during the school day for a special Father's Day event. We played soccer and watched people toss horseshoes. We also took a turn at the table where kids got to lather their Dad's faces with shaving cream and scrape it off with tongue depressors. The latter was something I had hoped to maybe avoid, but now am glad I got roped into. You were very much engaged, and I had a great vantage point from which to see the concentration on your face as you went about your work literally right in front of my nose.

When i first showed up I sat and watched you kicking balls into a small net with a few other kids. You didn't see me for a minute or two. I observed some behavior from you that I recognized, and had you been talking to me or acting that way towards me, I would have quickly discouraged it, but I saw that it was the appropriate thing for you to do wrt another, slightly older and not ideally-behaving kid. I was glad to see you say no to him, and to do so insistently, when he basically wanted the whole play area to himself.

It reminds me that I need to raise you to interact with the entire world around you, and not just teach you how to interact with me however I like best.

Dad

boys night

Dylan,

Mom was out of town briefly (just about 48 hours) so last night we were left to our own defenses. We made the best of it.

On the way home from school we stopped at the "baba ganoush store", also known as the Falafel Drive-In, for dinner. We shared some baba ganoush, some hummus and lots of pita bread, but you greedily ate all of the cucumbers. After a while I let you try my banana shake. The look in your eyes when you tasted what you had been lead to believe was water was one of transfixed joy. You were very much 'in the moment'. As soon as you paused for a breath I took the shake back and told you it was my turn but that I'd give it back when I was done. "I can have some more some of that?" you said, with hopeful satisfaction in your voice.

After dinner you told me that you didn't want to go home, that you wanted to "go for a drive". We headed to the Lego store at the mall and had a good time playing with the samples and checking out the displays before taking a couple of escalator rides on our circuitous exit route.

Again, you made it clear that you didn't want to go home. Fortunately (for me) you have influence but not control. We headed straight home for a cup of milk and as close to your regular routine as we could get without Mom being there.

Dad

anxiety

Dylan,

You had a really hard time letting me leave this morning after I took you to school. I stayed for a couple minutes (as I often do) and drew pictures with you on the little personal chalkboards with their impossibly tiny erasers, but when I told you it was time for me to go to work you just didn't want to accept it.

It wasn't that you had a problem with being left there, just that you wanted me to stay and play too. "Color!", "Color!" you urged as I walked toward the door, before running over and trying to haul me back to an activity table.

Eventually, over the course of several minutes, one of your teachers got you somewhat engaged in cutting strips of colored masking tape and creating designs on paper with the pieces. You insisted that I watch, which I did for a while, gradually moving farther away when you wouldn't notice. Then you'd see that I had moved, and implore me again to "watch" before turning back to your activity. Finally, I sneaked out.

It's very, very unusual for you to exhibit this kind of separation anxiety, although you also had an exceptionally hard time last Saturday when I left you at the gym daycare while Mom was exercising. Maybe it's a phase. Or maybe (in today's case) it has something to do with last night's unpleasant dream which led you to yell "NO! something something dinosaur!"

sick day

Dylan,

We left you home alone with a stranger for the first time.

Well, maybe not a "stranger" in the strictest of senses -- I at least got to meet her before leaving you in her care. You were sick and Mom and I both wanted to go to work. We made our first use of a Back Up Care benefit program through work. A nanny with First Aid and CPR certifications came to the house and spent the day with you for just $4/hour.

We could have sent you to a daycare facility (possibly even the one you used to go to) for half as much, but that's kind of a jerk move as a parent, placing one sick kid among 20 possibly healthy ones.

We stressed a little bit about it, Mom especially. But we decided that hiring a professional from a reputable company was a reasonable accommodation, and we just needed to trust that judgment.

Nevertheless, I left work almost an hour early and was pleased to find the house not burned down, our belongings still accounted for, and -- most importantly -- you; happy, fed, and playing with your new "friend" (even if you did manage to talk your way out of a nap).

Memorable quote from the nanny: "He really likes to eat".

Dad

humming bubbles

Dylan,

Miss Tiffany, your swim instructor, says that if you keep practicing over the Summer, you'll probably be able to swim on your own soon. She says you've got the arm and foot actions down -- if not both at the same time -- but you're still learning to breath out through your nose so you don't take in water. Your homework is to practice blowing bubbles by putting your face in water while humming, which you've started doing in the bath.

Dad

monsters

Dylan,

I started an unfortunate conversation about monsters yesterday when I asked if I could hear a whiny-monster in your bedroom. Then I tried to be re-assuring, but more monster talk only made it worse.

You woke me up at 5:45 this morning to remind me. I talked to you, rubbed your back a little, then covered you up and patted you for 20 minutes, stopping every 5 to see if I could sneak back to bed. Eventually you went back to sleep until past 7:30.

I think that's the first time I've ever managed to put you back to sleep in your crib in the morning.

boston

Dylan,

My friends Steve and Kevin have convinced me to run the Boston Marathon with them next April, which means I'll have to finish my first full marathon in a qualifying time of 3:15:59 or better, and do it before the end of this year. Of course, that means I'll need to start running again. And soon.

Training as a distance runner is where I've learned many of the most important lessons about life. Hopefully, as this endeavor re-surfaces some of the sharper edges of those lessons, I'll be able to illuminate them here for your future edification.

It's no sure thing, hitting that qualifier. Not at all. But inside I know that I can do it, and that I want to do it. And I expect to see myself succeed.

I have five months and seven days.

Dad

haircuts as milestones

Dylan,

We went and got haircuts today. We walked down to the "haircut store" together where you sat in your stroller eating a banana and watching as I got my hair cut first. After a few minutes of apprehension, highlighted by refusals to sit in the "special chair", you took your turn at bat.

Haircuts have become aging points for you. They're few and far enough between that each one makes you look leaps and bounds older.


Dad

um, daddy

"Um, Daddy?"

After Mommy read you a night-time story, you walked down the hall into my waiting arms, still processing the story's events.

Your smallest voice asks a question: "um daddy?, what did gordon do?"

I get a lot of sweet little "um, daddy's" like this while we wait for Mommy to catch up with you to claim her last hug and kiss of the day.

um daddy

Beach Day

Dylan,

Yesterday was one of those rare days when I'm home with you and we have nothing on the agenda. I was toying with going to the beach though the morning arrived with a thick layer of fog and predicted temps at the coast to be in the low 60s. It didn't sound like much of a beach day to me, but I figured the weather didn't much matter to you as long as I brought enough dry clothes to keep you sufficiently warm.

I thought briefly about going to the children's museum instead, but you've been so overly sensitive to things lately, both being overly aggressive with other kids yet crying almost at the drop of a hat, that I decided I didn't want to spend they day policing you and having to deal with all the crying.

The beach it was.

We got a late start, even though I got to and back from the gym early, because it took me a long time to get everything together, then you decided you didn't want to stop playing with your trains. I finally convinced you to get in the car, and we were off. We headed for your new favorite beach and arrived around lunch time. We navigated the steep rocky path down from the street, across the railroad tracks, and again steeply down to the parking area with your stroller in tow. I was a little apprehensive about you staying close and me managing you and the stroller. While it was too steep to have you in the stroller, I had decided to bring it to help transport our stuff and your toys. Aside from a brief stop at the tracks to investigate, the process was a piece of cake. You obligingly held my hand (very rare) and even sat patiently on the log near the steepest section while I carried down the stroller and then came back up to get you. I think you sensed the potential danger that existed, and showed surprising maturity in your actions.

I opted to have lunch with you still in your stroller at the top of the concrete steps that lead to the sand. Can't beat that view. I'm not a fan of sand in my food, and I figured it would be much less messy, and you much easier to contain with this approach. Again you were surprisingly willing to oblige despite the fact that the beach sprawled out right in front of you just waiting...

This beach is your favorite because it has a "little river" that runs off the hillside, collects into a pool in the sand, then continues to the ocean. It is this river that you're almost solely interested in, as the unpredictability of the ocean's swells and the noise of the crashing waves generally causes you to keep your distance form what most view as the main attraction. While I'd love to see you frolicking in the ebb and flow of foamy sea water, and can even imagine the giggles and laughter that might accompany this, there is also a large part of me that is very glad you are so wary of this beautiful beast and prefer to admire it from afar.

Apparently the rainy season is far enough behind us now that there is no longer a little river to play in, but rather a fairly stagnant pool of water with a trickling inlet, but no above ground outlet. I explained this to you and you seemed to take it in stride. We trudged across the sand to the far bank area and set up shop next to a large driftwood log. You immediately began loading sand onto your tractor and dump truck. As you seemed quite content to focus on this, I curled up on a towel with my book.

Eventually you asked if you could play in the pool. My instincts said "yuk, no" but I decided I could wash you off at the showers before our ride home. I rolled up your pants, donned your crocs, and let you go. You proceeded to wander a moderate distance away from our camp, then settle on your spot for throwing handfuls of sand and then increasingly larger rocks into the pool. Eventually you became more adventurous and began wading in. Your pants were rolled up to your knees and every time you went deep enough that the water submerged the bottom portion of the cuffs I would holler and tell you that was too deep. You listened and returned to shallower water. With the ocean in the background I couldn't hear you, but I could tell from the bobbing of your head and sway of your body that you were singing out loud and talking to nobody in particular. You played happily in your own little world for quite some time. As you played I lamented the fact that although I love the sound of the waves and the beauty of the ocean, I really don't like sand. Sand in my fingernails, sand stuck between my toes, the dirty residue it leaves when you brush it off, sand in every nook and cranny of every item that makes the trip to the beach with me. It's just not for me. I'm not going to be the Mom that spends hours building wet goupy sand castles with you, or rolls around in the sand while tackling you during a game of chase.

When you finally made your way back to me, I asked if you wanted to take a walk. At first I thought I might coax you into the ocean, but it soon became clear that while you would go down near it, you had no intention of going in. I longed to walk down the beach, but since it still takes you about 45 minutes to walk around our block at home, I figured I would do way more standing while you investigated every little thing in your path. There is, after all, a virtually infinitesimal number of distractions over the course of just a few yards of sand.

To my luck, you stumbled upon the tire tracks of the beach ranger vehicle that had passed by earlier. You wanted to follow the tracks and started stomping and sometimes jogging down their trail and down the beach. Just as that ceased to interest you (quite a ways down actually) I saw a canvas of broken bits of shells up ahead. I pointed it out to you and it peaked your interest. We went over to investigate and started digging though the 3 inch thick layer of mollusk remains. We used some rocks to sift through things and you were constantly offering me your rocks to use. We were playing together, sharing our discoveries. You told me you were bigger than the shells.

At one point you stopped to ask me if I would be your friend. I paused, then responded saying, "I would love to be your friend, I will always be your friend, and I will always be your mommy." That was clearly not quite what you were looking for as when I finished you simply looked at me and asked again if I would be your friend. Ok, right, your two and a half (to the day). "Yes" I said. Apparently that answer was better, as you returned to what you were doing.

I don't know how long we played at that spot, but it seemed like quite long. Eventually we made our way back to camp, packed up our stuff, walked to the showers to clean up, then made the "treacherous" journey back to the car. All without a single peep of opposition from you. I had to keep pinching myself. These days most everything meets with opposition from you, so I was thoroughly enjoying and quite amazed by the ease at which this day had unfolded. Is this the way you'd be if you were always free to do what you wanted and had novel un-ending entertainment at your fingertips? No one else's schedule imposed upon you? Maybe. Sounds like a recipe for chaos to me, but I'm just a stuffy old responsible adult.

Before making the drive back over the hill, we ended our adventure with a trip to the farmers market to pick up some veggies for dinner, strawberries for dessert, and pasture raised eggs for breakfast. You started to unravel at this point, but I knew it was because you were both hungry and tired from your full day.

This is not a day I will soon forget. How fortunate I feel to have decided to make the trip to the beach. How much fun it was to watch you play and to play with you. How I am reminded that I need to remove myself from the distractions of daily life to spend quality time with you.

At the beach I'm not waiting for the load of laundry in the dryer to finish so I can take it out and put in the load already waiting in the washer. I'm not at the park with the sole purpose of making sure you get your outdoor play time and vitamin D for the day. I am just there with you, mostly in the moment, but also a little bit in the past in the form of reflection. Reminded that you are growing quickly into a boy. Caught off-guard by the definitiveness with which your life and development continue to march forward before my very eyes, and in spite of whatever. Your little extremities lengthening, your face narrowing, and your mind refining all the neural connections the experiences of your past 2.5 years have created.

It was a very good day.

Happy almost Mothers day to me.

Love,
Mom

guns

dylan,

three joined lego blocks
shooting daddy in the face
someone's taught you guns

dad

cheers

Dylan,

"I wanna do cheers", you've been saying at pretty much every meal, wanting to thunk your plastic cup against whatever I'm drinking out of, sometimes with dangerous enthusiasm.

I think you picked it up during Easter dinner at Yaya & Papa's House. It's still a real favorite.

I'm sure you've been doing it at school too, and getting a lot of blank stares in return. Yesterday you sat down for a snack with your new buddy Charlie and he was taken unawares by your custom, though he did catch on quickly enough.

We've implemented a "once per meal" rule to keep things reasonable.


Dad

proud

Dylan,

We were all across the street chatting with our neighbors and their family, including their grandson Tyler, who spends most weekdays at their house.

You and Tyler (who is five or six months your junior) were running around together and throwing occasional rocks into the fish pond next to the driveway. We reminded you a few times not to go out past the sidewalk.

Once, while you were both throwing spikey-balls from a liquid amber tree from the sidewalk into the street, you heard a car coming down the street. You looked up then grabbed onto to Tyler with both hands until the car had passed, to keep him from running out into the street.

I don't know if you felt more responsibility because you already understand that you're the older one, or if you just naturally look out for your friends. Either way I was proud of you and expect you'll continue to give me reasons to be.


Dad

handed down

Dylan,

I've been meaning to post these for a while now:

Don't know much about you
Don't know who you are
We've been doing fine without you
But we could only go so far
Don't know why you chose us
Were you watching from above
Is there someone there that knows us
Said we'd give you all our love

Will you laugh just like your mother
Will you sigh like your old man
Will some things skip a generation
Like I've heard they often can
Are you a poet or a dancer
A devil or a clown
Or a strange new combination of
The things we've handed down

I wonder who you'll look like
Will your hair fall down and curl
Will you be a mama's boy
Or daddy's little girl
Will you be a sad reminder
Of what's been lost along the way
Maybe you can help me find her
In the things you do and say
And these things that we have given you
They are not so easily found
But you can thank us later
For the things we've handed down

You may not always be so grateful
For the way that you were made
Some feature of your father's
That you'd gladly sell or trade
And one day you may look at us
And say that you were cursed
But over time that line has been
Extremely well rehearsed
By our fathers, and their fathers
In some old and distant town
From places no one here remembers
Come the things we've handed down

still precious

Dylan,

Tonight for the first time you joined me in singing your night-night song. You needed a prompt here and there but you pretty much managed to sing all the words.

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line

I find it very, very easy to be true
I find myself alone when each day is through
Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you
Because you're mine, I walk the line

As sure as night is dark and day is light
I keep you on my mind both day and night
And happiness I've known proves that it's right
Because you're mine, I walk the line

You've got a way to keep me on your side
You give me cause for love that I can't hide
For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide
Because you're mine, I walk the line

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line


Dad

terrible two

Dylan,

You kicked a girl in the chin today at school. When I got home and asked you about it you told me it was an accident.

I told you I didn't believe you were telling me the truth.


Dad

Beautiful

Dylan,

I know I'm biased but...
you are the most beautiful thing





Love,
Mom

Green Burrito

Dylan,

You have a green towel with a sewn on hood that was given to you as a baby gift by Dad's Uncle Joe and Aunt Dawn. After your evening shower or bath, we drape the hood over your wet blond hair and wrap you up. Then we scoop you up and carry you to the bed where your jammies are waiting. Dad's been wrapping you up this way since the early days, though it's easier now as you are more than capable of standing while we do it.

A few weeks ago when I did this, I called you my little green burrito, and asked you if I could have a bite. After all, there are few things more precious than a freshly bathed toddler wrapped in a towel. I recall some pretty cute pictures of myself in that state, and come to think of it, once we cover up the blond hair there's quite a bit of resemblance. But I digress...

You obliged my request so I scooped your burrito'd self into my arms and proceeded to dive my face into your towel wrapped tummy, saying "yum yum yum yum". You immediately started to giggle and then full blown laughter ensued. When I stopped, you insisted on another bite.

Well...OK

Now each night you patiently wait for Dad to wrap you in your towel, knowing this is what transforms you into the green burrito. Wherever I am in the house, Dad will track me down, little green burrito in arms, so you can offer me a bite. Based on the anticipation I see on your face, and the response I get, I don't think this routine will get old to you anytime soon.

Love,
Mom (keeper of the worlds best burrito)

becoming gold

dylan,

The same cd has been sitting in my bedside alarm clock for most of your life.

Part of the bedtime routine has always been turning on the light then turning on the music. For a long time we'd just start at the beginning and listen to the first coupla songs, but we eventually migrated farther and farther into the playlist and settled on listening to songs 10 and 11.

You ask for #10 She's Becoming Gold by name but I'm the one who likes #11, Things We've Handed Down.

You've learned now which buttons to push in sequence and (roughly) how many times they need to be pushed to play the song you want.


dad

training

Dylan,

I can't remember the last time I had to change a poopy diaper. Thank you, thank you!

I knew that I really didn't know what I was in for, but you've handled potty training quite well and made it easy, more or less.

Over the weekend you went half a day wearing underwear without an "accident" (although we have yet to use that word with you in this context, it conveys my meaning here well). You didn't make it through the very sleepy car ride to a friend's house, though.

That reminds me, I still need to wash that carseat cover.

Dad

Just another day

Dylan,

It's one of those great weather days our region is so well known for. At just after five in the evening it is a sunny, warm 86 degrees. We're all outside enjoying the soft breeze. Dad's sitting on the lounge couch and you've been doing just about everything an almost two and a half year old can find to do on such a day. A romp through the grass with your rubber ball, a climb on your play structure, some digging in your oak-barrel dirt container, some scrutinizing of bugs on the patio (Uncle Marc would be proud), and some singing with Daddy.

Life is pretty good.

We put you in a pair of underwear before we came outside and brought the potty chair out. You made it at least a half hour before that familiar grab. I quickly asked you if you needed to go potty, but it was evident that I was too late. Well, at least you were aware of the fact that you had already gone.

Now that your shorts and underwear were wet, I decided to let you run around in your birthday suit. Less laundry for me, and maybe more of a reminder to you that you didn't have the luxury of a diaper. So far it's working. You've made one productive trip to the potty, and have yet to water the flagstone or grass!

I must admit, you look pretty darn cute in just your t-shirt and crocs.

Love,
Mom

gg's blanket

Dylan,

On our trips to visit my folks you had the pleasure of a huge, fluffy-soft, white blanket to sleep with. Grandma gg noticed how much you appreciated it and sent you one of your own, which you've been sleeping with every night since.

When you ask for it by name you call it "gg's blanket". Every night when I cover you up I think of how much she loves you.


Dad

being dad

Dylan,

I love being a Dad.

Dad

silly walrus

Dylan,

I made crepes this morning, rolled them up, and sliced 'em into sections. You've been unrolling the sections and eating them "like noodles".

You just announced "I'm a silly walrus!" as you had the ends of the crepe noodle hanging out either side of your mouth, bouncing slightly as you wobbled your head.


Dad

only real

Dylan,

Every night while you sit on the toilet before your shower you ask me to read the Everyone Poops book, usually two or three times. By now you've got most of it memorized, more or less accurately, and I can just turn the pages while you "read" the book to me. You point to every page featuring the little black-haired boy and say "that's me(!) and that's me!"

Pages three and four explain that a "one hump camel makes a one hump poop" and a "two hump camel makes a two hump poop", punchlined by "Only kidding!" At first, you starting adding "Only kidding!" when you finished reading the pages before and/or after the camels. Lately, when you finish those one-off pages you look for eye contact and say "only real" with the exact same intonations.

Dad

cuts like a fork

Dylan,

Watching you use tools is great. Sitting at the dinner table using your "big boy fork" aka: "small fork" to poke roasted vegetables and to cut the carrots into bite-sized pieces is a simple joy.

Dad

"No way Jose!"

Yes, that's your new way of saying NO when you really want to make sure you're understood, or when just plain "NO!" doesn't seem to be cutting the mustard. While Dad and I want to make sure you understand raising your voice in such a manner is not acceptable behavior, it's really, really hard not to fall to the floor in a heap of laughter when it comes flying out of your mouth.

It's just downright hilarious.

There will come a day when the things that come flying out of your mouth probably won't have that same mood enhancing effect, but for now I will relish the pureness that is you.


Mom

Almost done

Before:



After:

jingle bells

Dylan,

You've been in bed about fifteen minutes now and you just started belting out "Jingle Bells".

Dad

ps: Now you've moved on to "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes".

Before and After

Dylan,

As you know, the bathroom looks like a bathroom again. For the last number of days since the tub went in, whenever there's a worker in the bathroom laying tile or doing the plumbing, you repeat to them excitedly "you bring the new bathtub, there's a new bathtub in there!"

They usually don't get it...

home is where

Dylan,

After a lot of consideration, we're getting ready to sell your house and move.

I say "your house" because it's the only one you've ever known as your own so the word "home" has a concrete definition for you--it's not some abstraction that applies to wherever your bed might be.

I'm sure down the road this particular house will barely exist on the fringes of your memory, and that some other house(s) will have connected with you in ways that will cause it/them appear on the backside of your forehead whenever "home" is mentioned, but for now it's just this one house, one roof, one green door.

It's going to seem strange seeing everything packed up in boxes, and it's going to mess with a lot of your routines. I'll be watching to see how you handle it.


Dad

shower

Dylan,

You took a shower by yourself the other day. All I had to do was hand you a soapy washcloth and you worked carefully from your hair to the tops of your feet. Pretty impressive for a kid your age, I thought.

Dad

Cha cha cha changes...

At 8:30 this am our hall bathroom looked like this...



four hours later...


Wow

When you finally got a glimpse of the finished product, the result was priceless. I could just see you trying to process it all. All those synapses trying to help make sense of this seeming alter reality. I've never seen that look on your face before. Pure wonder.

When you finally chose to speak, you pointed to the emptyness and said "the bathtub is all gone?!"

As they always do, I'm sure your thoughts on this matter will pop out of your mouth a few days or a week down the road at some randomly connected moment.

Mom

From the peanut gallery

Dylan,

I invisioned my first post including much more fanfare, or at least an introduction, but as I keep waiting for the right moment to create it, I have begun to realize it just isn't going to happen. I could and would like to say a million things, but really there just are no words to explain how the experiences of the last two years have transformed me on every level. Including those many levels I don't even know exist. You just had to be there :)

Instead, I will just start with the present (or last week really) and carry on. That is, after all, what life is all about.

So, Dad took a little "vacation" from us and made the trip up to see his family alone. It was the longest stretch I have ever had you all to myself. It was a challenge, mostly because you had a cold and had to stay home from school, but also because I had a lot of house issues to deal with and you were supposed to be at school, not bouncing around the house while I was doing them.

One night while we were going through your bedtime routine, I stepped out of the room for a moment. When I returned you had one of Dad's socks on (spanning the length of the most of your leg, ankle to thigh), and were working on the other one. You looked up to give me one of those "look what I did" grins, then proceeded to explain, in case I hadn't noticed, you had your socks on. I was quite impressed with your ability to put them on and pull them up as you have not yet mastered even getting your flinstone toes into the openings of your own little socks.

I guess size does matter.



Mom

field trip

Dylan,

They're doing more new construction at the hospital and we drive by it every morning on the way to school. Today the machines were out in force, so we parked in the Visitor's lot and walked to the top of the little parking garage right next to all the action. There was a Scraper, a Track Excavator, an Articulated Wheel-Dozer, a Forklift, a Backhoe, and a Front-End Loader.

They were beepin' and chuggin' and scoopin' and dumpin'. Drivin' and plowin' and co-ordinatin'. They were pilin' and haulin' and turnin' and workin'. You watched with undivided attention.

Then we walked back to the car and finished the trip.

When we arrived at school they said "We were just talking about you, saying 'It's unusual that Dylan's not here by now', and there you are!"

I'm sure you had a good day. And I wonder how things went on your first day in Pull-Ups.


Dad

wreck

Dylan,

You were an emotional wreck yesterday.

It was odd behavior -- more of degree than kind, I think -- as you repeatedly flew off the handle in major crying fits that would last and last, then end as abruptly as they had begun.

The first was with Mom at Spanish class: The teacher was pretending to feed a doll. She offered the doll some food, and the doll refused.

This shook you.

You cried inconsolably for the last minutes of class and then all the way home where Mom put you down for a nap that lasted only 15 minutes.

You blew up again just as I pulled in the driveway. You ran out the back door of the garage, picked up a flower you had been playing with earlier (that came from the neighbor's bush) and acted as though someone were coming to take it away from you.

I carried you inside. The flower seemed to lose it's importance, but still you cried. I told you to go ahead and cry as much as you needed to. You stopped almost immediately and told me you were all done.

You blew up once at the table during dinner, and exploded again when I put your cup of milk away before you were really ready. I was glad Mom told me the details of Spanish class before she left for a class of her own, so I was able to say some reassuring things when you blurted out "the baby needs more foo-ood".

I took a picture to show you:



It fascinated you such that you stopped crying again and posed for more:



You went off the rails again when I started to leave the room to get things ready for bedtime. And then once more when I said "no" to a request for something you wanted (I'm not even certain what) off the ledge in the shower. You did the curled-bottom-lip-over-extended-jaw howl as you clambered out -- not staying to play and watch the last drops of water go down the drain, which you usually treasure -- and got into your bathrobe. Then you stood atop your potty chair, still crying, and peed all over yourself.

As I was saying, that's not like you.

It seemed you had a remarkably empathetic connection with that doll, and you couldn't stand the thought of its needs not being met.


Dad


UPDATED: I had the doll story wrong. It was the doll that refused the food, not the teacher who refused the doll more food.

pull-ups

Dylan,

Your teacher suggested we start sending you to school in pull-ups so she can help with the transition out of diapers. That might start as soon as tomorrow.

I like the idea of some experienced help. I'm feeling like I'm behind the curve on potty training expertise.

Dad

for one second

Dylan,

You were playing in the hallway with your froggy bank, occasionally throwing it or banging it on the wall. I gave you a warning that if you were not nice to Froggy he would go away.

You took him into your room and I could hear you saying "You get a timeout for one second. Because I hit you."

I was pleased to hear you explain to Froggy why he was being punished. I think it means we've set your expectations as such.


Dad

unsad

Dylan,

You just turned to me at the dinner table and said "You're unsad", then turned and said the same, in an energized voice, to Mommy.

We had just reminded you with big smiles on our faces of how you made us both proud last night with your first full spectrum utilization of your little potty. That's right -- you pooped in the toilet for the first time. Major milestone.

Here's hoping for a quick and painless transition (fingers crossed!) to a diaper free lifestyle.


Dad

vientesiete

dylan,

You turned 27 months old yesterday. You've had so many of these milestones that they're starting to go by unnoticed.


Dad

play your trains

Dylan,

The wooden train set you got for Christmas spends a lot of time laid out on the floor. You often encourage me to join you in making use of it but you don't really invite me to join in so much as you implore me with: "Play your trains! Play your trains!", often jabbing a finger toward the space you would have me occupy.

In your mind you've usually designated some car or engine as mine, but you invariably develop a new attachment to it as soon as I start rolling it down the tracks.


Dad

technology

Dylan,

The current CEO of Google expects that by the time you're my age you'll be able to store the entirety of human knowledge on a hand-held device.

For now, I'm still impressed that I can do this with my cell phone:




Dad

meta

Readers,

I know there is a small but devoted audience for this blog. I look forward to Dylan and myself (and, I suppose, some of you) looking back on these entries years, even decades or generations down the road.

I've heard often from you, dear Readers, just sharing a thought about this or that posting, appreciation of the blog's existence from those far away, even requests to change the wording of a post for fear that it might give Dylan a complex (request denied).

Now I have a request, and an offer.

To enhance the richness of this collection of ravings about my little boy -- my beautiful handful -- I invite you to exercise the Comments sections available with each post. You have full license to make your comments as simple or elaborate as you feel. There is a certain energy around this blog (which I must admit, I write with you guys in mind too) that goes as yet un-captured. If and when a post here elicits a response of any kind within you, share it as I have done. Then we can share in it again somewhere down the road.

Of a similar note: if a thought, memory, or interaction with Dylan inspires you independently, consider adding your own post (or photograph, video, whatever) to this blog. I can enable you to do it on your own (it's really simple) or you can send it to me and I'll have it on the web in a jiffy.


E


ps: Posting a comment is really simple, but I recognize that "simple" doesn't always mean "easy". If you need any help with the technicals, gimme a shout.

stand and deliver

mister shark

Dylan,

"Gobble, garb, garb, snarf" you say, twisting your little stuffed shark over the fingers of your opposite hand.

"Mister Shark" you ask, "can I have my finger back?"

"Garf, garf, gobble, roarr."

"Thank you Mister Shark!"


Dad

big helper

Dylan,

Whenever the dishwasher is open you rush over to it shouting "Big helper, big helper" and either try to shove the trays back inside and quickly close the door, or grab something in an effort to help unload. It's usually something sharp and of course, still dirty.

Really though, I prefer that you're (over-)eager to help. For as long as you continue to take satisfaction in being helpful, we are gonna be allllllright.

Dad

this heart of me

Dylan,

As you know, I've been singing to you at bedtime pretty much your whole life. And ever since you were just a few weeks old and I discovered you would often enough stop crying when you heard Johnny Cash's "Walk The Line" on the stereo, that song has been a nighttime staple. For the last, I dunno, six months or so it's been the one and only song I sing before putting you in your crib for the night.

You've long afforded that song special status, strenuously objecting to my singing it -- or even humming the tune -- at other parts of the day. You've also taken to calling it your "night night song", sometimes asking for it by name as you flop your head from my right shoulder into the crook of my left elbow after Mom and I complete the last hand-off of the day.

Lately you've begun singing it to yourself now and again during daylight hours, usually as a few refrains of "I keep a close watch on this heart of me". It is precious like few other things.

Dad

1000 words

Dad