Some Pix

Peter's Christmas

Peter was wise enough to understand that when people are putting trees inside their houses and lights outside their houses that something is up. He must have also remembered those big parties that he went to when he was 7 months old. Whatever it was, he knew he was going to have some fun.

 

Monday, December 22nd saw us scrambling in the evening to get out to the post office in time to mail out our Christmas cards so they'd get to people before they became belated Christmas cards. While Mommy and Daddy were busy fixing the pictures to the cards and getting the cards stuffed into their envelopes, Peter was wandering around the lobby, doing what he always does – attracting attention. Fortunately, we were not the only procrastinators, and another Daddy with two little girls came to drop off their family's cards. Little Jackie and Caroline were 3 ½ and 2 years old apiece, and they liked Peter. To say they lavished attention on him would be an understatement. They gave him hugs and kisses aplenty, and when it was time for them to go they protested that, no, they wanted to stay with Peter. Peter, I'm sure, would have liked them to stay, but he didn't protest much because he was in something of a daze by that point.

 

Tuesday the 23rd was another snowy day and was also a day of preparation for the coming two days. I had to go out to the mall in the evening to pick up some stuff while Mommy did some baking. When I got back I was greeted with the sight of Peter helping her work. He did some mixing and other helpful things, but was very good and very focused on his work. He's a good boy, that Peter.

 

Wednesday, Christmas Eve. The day was to be broken into two parts: Brunch with Grandpa, Grandma and Aunt Sarah in the morning chez Pierre, then over to Auntie Trucker's in the evening. Peter had an enjoyable time at the brunch, charming and delighting everyone. He got an adjustable backboard as a present, and after the brunch he had an excellent time getting everyone to help him do acrobatic slam dunks, as the net was still a little too high for him. His energy level did run low in the early afternoon, however, and he wound up taking a good 2 hour nap. When he woke up we all went to his Aunt's house, and he spent about 5 hours running around, playing with his cousins. But when time came to open presents, we learned something new about Peter. If you give him the gift of clothing, he gets upset. Really upset. Like offended-fundamentalist upset. You thought you gave him a nice sweater? No, that was a slap in the face. Fortunately he was able to run around after that so his mood didn't go too far to the South. Of course, when it came time to go, Mr. Angry came out again, but at least he fell asleep within minutes of being put in the car.

 

Thursday, Christmas Day. We were up around 8:30 in the morning, and out to church for 10:15 mass in no time. After mass we went back to Auntie Tucker's house before people moved on in different directions, and again loading Peter back into the car was not fun as he was more interested in playing. We took him home and put him down for a nap, and again he was out cold for a couple hours. After he woke up we drove out to Auntie Vi's house to drop off some stuff from our car, and when his Mom delivered that stuff (and left him in the car with his Dad) Peter got upset again. Was it because Mommy left us for a couple minutes, or was it because he knew his cousins were inside? Both? Anyway, Mommy came back and we drove over to his Granny's house for dinner with Granny and Aunt Sarah. Once we pulled up in front of her house Peter again lit up. Peter played with the kitties and was his normal charming self. And luckily for him he didn't get any clothes as presents (interestingly, his parents "got" very small outfits that might not fit them, but maybe they'd fit Peter? Hmmmm.). A good time was had by all, and, again, Peter was asleep in the car within minutes of us leaving.

 

Now, on to recovery…

Aid, Assistance, Support...

Peter is a helpful boy. When we are making dinner, he reaches up and tries to do what he can to help out. Of course, he can’t really see much of what is being done, but his hands will reach up and grab onto whatever they can get. Onions, garlic, knives – you name it, he’ll grab it. Sometimes he can even recognize what he grabs as trash and will take it over to the trash can and dump it.

 

Last night I was in the living room folding his laundry, and he decided to help by grabbing the folded laundry and moving it over to the floor by the Christmas tree, making one big pile of (mostly) folded clothes.

 

And on Saturday I was replacing an older two-prong outlet with a new three-prong outlet, and he grabbed one of my screwdrivers and started poking it at the outlets like I was. Let’s just say I’m glad I wasn’t doing anything with the hammer at the time.

 

And they’re calling for more snow this week, so I’m sure he’ll be out there again with his shovel. Helping.

Snow. Snow. Snow. More snow. Snow again. Snowsnowsnow. Snoooooooooow.

Yesterday was a snowy day (but not a Snow Day, at least not for me), and per the morning news this morning I saw that we’re already 3 inches ahead of where we were last year – when we had the 2nd snowiest winter in recorded history. It makes me wonder why we didn’t buy a condo instead of a house.

 

Anyway, I was out shoveling for a couple hours last night, and his mom brought Peter out so the whole family could clear the driveway. It was an awful mess, thanks to the hours of sleet and freezing rain that fell before the snow. There was at least an inch of hard, compacted slush below the wet snow. Each full shovel felt like it weighed about 10 pounds. Peter was wise enough to dump his little shovel and just pick up a chunk of ice here and there and toss it onto the mounds of moved snow. Last week when we had him out in the snow he removed his mittens within a minute of them being put on, or put on again. Last night he figured out that mittens on his hands make his fingers not get cold, and they work better when the thumb is up in its little slot. So he was able to stay out longer and play more than last time. He did fine for 20-30 minutes and then he took a header face-first into the snow when he stepped off the driveway onto the neighbors’ lawn. He didn’t cry or anything, but he got a face full of snow and his mittens and boots were pretty much covered, also. At this point I took him back inside and got him out of the wet snowsuit.

 

At that point I was ready for dinner that Peter’s mom had prepared while I did my Sisyphean shoveling. I offered some to Peter, but he shook his head emphatically while pointing at the round tin on the table. I asked him “Do you want a cookie?” and he lit up and started nodding just as emphatically as he had been shaking it 10 seconds before. So I gave him a bit of a cookie, and when that was gone tried to give him some more of the casserole. Shake shake shake! Cookie? Nod nod nod! When Peter’s mom came in she asked me if he ate, and I told her that he didn’t want the casserole, but he did want the cookie. She then apologized and said it was her fault (score!) because she had given him one before taking him out to shovel. For a second I was worried that I was the one who had corrupted him. Sweet.

19 Months

Peter is now 19 months old, as of 9:04 this morning. I'm not sure how we are going to celebrate, as it's currently snowing again (for the 3rd or 4th time in 10 days or so), and we're supposed to get 4-6 inches by the time it's over. I'd take him outside tonight to make a snowman, but I'll be shoveling. Besides, I'm not sure where we packed his snowpants. There's also the ear infection thing - I don't know if that's a good thing out in the snow. Oh, well. Maybe I'll just get a cake.

Holidays already?

Last Thursday was Thanksgiving, and after a morning visit from his Grammy and Aunt Sarah (and a nap) we tossed Peter into the car and headed out to West Allis, where his Aunt Vi was hosting the annual shindig on his mom’s side. We got there at about 1:30, and the dinner was scheduled to be served in the early afternoon, and Peter wasted no time in demanding to be fed. This would be the trend of the day for him, as he spent the next 9 hours or so eating everything that wasn’t nailed down, to everyone’s amazement. He has turkey (of course), stuffing, sweet potatoes, wild rice, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, chex mix, peanuts, a croissant, and I’m pretty sure he had some of the paella, too. And I should also mention that he was the only one of the three of us to have breakfast. Peter’s mom wasn’t all that surprised by this, as she said he does like to graze all day. However, “grazing” does not cause the air pressure in the house to drop to the point where the chance of precipitation increases inside because of a toddling epicenter.

 

Anyway, when he wasn’t eating he was playing with his cousins, having a great time without an afternoon nap. But of course, by the end of the evening this will make Peter a tired boy, even if he wants to stay up all night and play. So when he saw people starting to get ready to go, out came the lip and tears. At least he fell asleep in the car after only a minute of driving.

 

The next day we took Peter to get his hair cut, as he was getting a little shaggy up top. Actually, we were torn about it somewhat, since he would wake up sometimes with this great messy rock-star hair do that looked great on him. But common sense won out and he lost several pounds of hair. He was distraught to start out, but after 10 minutes his fear turned into simple annoyance. After he was done he looked like a whole new kid. The really good part about it is that we can see his eyebrow and forehead expressions a lot better, and they are quite the sight to see.

 

Then Saturday afternoon Peter started getting a slight fever. He seemed recovered Sunday morning when we were scheduled to go out to Madison for a cousins Christmas photo shoot. But the fever did come back while we were there (Mr. Model wasn’t that happy a camper this time, likely due to the illness), and it got higher in the evening after we got home.

 

He made a quick visit to the doctor yestareday, were we learned that he had a double ear infection, likely caused by the cold he had a few weeks before plugging up the fluid tubes in his ears. He has a perscription for antibiotics, which he really doesn’t care for, and Motrin to control his fever. But when the fever is under control he’s his normal self, which is a good thing.

A Quick Blurb

I haven't been ignoring the blog or anything, but we moved a couple weeks ago and every minute not at the office has been devoted to house-related stuff and sleep. We've made a lot of progress on the house, it now looks almost nothing like it was when we first saw it. Peter really likes the house, too. He got lots of time inside it before we moved in, so it wasn't a big shock to him when he found himself spending all his time here. He's also found that he likes to stare into the open refrigerator and pull out juice or any other thing he can get his hands on.

 

We also got DirecTV, which has a bunch of channels with XM radio playing. Peter is hooked on channel 844, The Groove. It's funk and R&B, and Peter loves that stuff. He'll shake his rump on his own if he has to, but he still prefers me to do the work for him. This was fine before when he was smaller, but he's not exactly the runt of the litter and my left knee is griping at me from all the bouncing. I think the tendon is stretching out. I'm not a doctor, so it could be a torn ACL, too. Or knee gangrene.

Halloween 2 - The Revenge of Peter

Peter was much more into the annual rite of disguised extortion than last year. Last year he couldn’t walk on his own, so he was at the mercy of his dad’s slow walk carrying him from house to house. This year Peter was self-propelled, and he took off on his own (well, as far as we let him). His costume this year was an ode to the finery of yesteryear, when polyester leisure suits adorned the men’s catwalks of Paris and Milan. And a wig. Yes, Peter was dressed as a disco dancing love muffin. The wig, though, wasn’t so much disco as it was funk, so we called him Bootsy for the day.

As I said, he took off on his own. Since it was rather chilly we had mittens on him, so he couldn’t grab the pumpkin bag that held his loot. He still held it, but hooked on his forearm like it was a purse. We soon came upon a house with an Obama sign out front, and he gladly posed next to it. He took us all around a big block, perkily going from house to house until it was time to get back inside and thaw.

He got many compliments on his fine accoutrements. He loved seeing the other kids in costumes. He had a whole lotta fun. It’s only unfortunate that it was as cold as it was, because underneath his costume he had 3 or 4 layers, and he wound up being on the stiff side. And with that stiffness, if you are a toddler who likes to pick up things that you find on a lawn, you are at risk of bending over stiffly to pick up a twig, and keeling over due to your lack of flexibility. Then you find yourself (stiffly) writhing on the grass, just like Randy in A Christmas Story. Minus the snow bank.

Well, the really nice thing about taking an almost 18-month-old kid out trick-or-treating is that they get into the process. Y’know, the process, as in going out in a costume with a bunch of other kids. As parents, Peter’s Mom and I get the payoff, a small haul of candy that I told Peter he could eat provided he could get the wrapper off (I am a cruel, cruel father - but hey, the offer still stands). Look, I love my boy, but if he gets sugared up I am not going to get any sleep for at least 36 hours. Peter is a real Popeye when he gets his spinach, so as Bluto-slash-Daddy, I gotta figure out a way to keep the spinach in the can, y’dig?

Anyway, Bootsy isn’t totally in the past yet. We have a party on Saturday where the whole family will (gulp) disco like disco never went the way of disco. Yeah. Disco. You know, it sounded so much better in an abstract way, and now I have to dress like I have actual Saturday Night Fever. Rockin’ Pneumonia? No, and a shot of Rhythm & Blues wouldn’t do me any good. One of these years we’ll have to do a Jolly Green Giant and Sprout combo. At least that isn’t as embarrassing.

Fall Pics

Fall Pics

Fall Pics

Fall Pics

Peter's Dad's Parenting Tip of the Day

A marker may be a good distraction for a toddler in church, but you're only asking for trouble by giving it to him. Trust me. Just Sayin'.

2.1?

What about this?

2.0?

I changed the template for the blog. If you don't like it you can complain via the comments. I've just been looking at the dots for too long.

Random Stuff

It’s a shame that doctors don’t have percentile measurements of hands and feet like they do for height, weight and head size. Every so often I look at Peter’s hands and think jeez, them suckers are big. But since they don’t do measurements, I can’t tell if I don’t really know what I’m talking about or if Peter does in fact have oddly-proportioned mitts. But I do know this: we’ve had to get Peter new shoes about every six weeks now since around his birthday. Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but I don’t think it’s off by much. I do expect to come home one night only to be told by the missus that Peter’s shoes can’t come off because his feet grew too much since I left in the morning.

…

Speaking of growing, Peter has four new teeth poking through his gums now. They’re all the canines - which have taken their time in showing up, but maybe it’s more convenient that they’re all coming through at once. It explains why he was acting as cranky as he was last week. Why, he was so cranky he made John McCain look laid back in comparison. ß joke.

…

A trait that Peter has been developing for several months now is one that his mom and I hope lasts a long time: neatness. Well, not Felix Unger neatness, not yet anyway. I mean, give him spaghetti and he paints his face and everything with 3 feet of him a nice shade of red. But he’s in a phase where he’ll pick up his toys and put them in their container when he’s done playing. Hopefully this phase lasts a looooooong time. With any luck I can train him to clean up my own messes.

…

The following picture was taken at Costco a couple weeks back. Peter is with his friend Braiden. Peter likes hugging. Braiden? Not so much.

…

Peter is now able to climb up the seat of a sofa or chair, provided it’s not too high up above the floor. He throws his right leg up on to the cushion and throws his body forward, while trying to get traction with his knee. He’s got good form, but he needs to get a little taller to be able to succeed every time.

…

Whenever he goes to his Granny’s house now he tries to pick up one of the cats. We’re not sure why, maybe he’s seen me do it before and he wants to do the same thing. But he’s not yet big enough. He reaches under the hind legs and tries to pull up, but he doesn’t have the leverage to do it. Instead he falls forward a little bit and rolls over. Good thing Mitzi puts up with him.

The bottle is EMPTY, mind you...

Kids mimic their parents. But I don't know where Peter got this idea:






As far as I am concerned, Peter will learn Greek letters because he's learning Greek. Or advanced math.

Let's Go To The Hop

It is turning into something of a daily ritual when I get home in the evening - Peter expresses his pleasure at seeing me come home, then insists that I crank up the iPod and bounce him up and down. It used to be that he would dance on his own, but now he prefers that I hold him and do the bulk of the work, as he gets to bounce rhythmically without breaking a sweat. He’s a smart kid. Don’t get me wrong, he’ll still shake his rump, say, when the dancing badger commercial comes on (which I don’t think I’ve seen in a while, actually), but he mostly prefers pointing up at the speakers and emphatically grunting that it’s time.

 

He has also, on his own and with absolutely no coaching, developed a “cool guy” look while he dances (well, that should really say “while I dance him”). The cool guy look consists of slightly pursed lips, ever-so-slightly raised eyebrows, and the well-timed bob of his head to go along with the beat. So cool is his appearance, so aloof does he look, that I am foolish enough to believe that he actually does not care for the song that is playing, and big dumb dad upsets the little hipster by changing the song in the middle of it. This is then followed by a short burst of “hmph!” and a dirty look. Then another song starts playing and it’s back to Coolsville.

 

Now, I do enjoy having this quality time with my son. However, he’s a growing boy. I am going to have to wean him from this at some point. I do not want to have to bounce both him and his date at his first Homecoming dance. I’m sure he doesn’t want his parents as chaperones, either. Although, maybe if his mom would bounce the date it might not be so bad. Hm. Maybe I gotta reconsider that.

Taking Lumps

Peter had been playing with a couple of super balls. I noticed he was kneeling down, looking under a big chair as if one of the balls had rolled under there, which it had done a couple minutes beforehand. Being a helpful dad, I get down and press my face against the floor and start looking for the ball under the chair. No sooner had I smooshed my cheek into the carpet than I start getting whacked on the head - with the missing super ball. Whack whack whack. No mercy, no pausing between blows to my head. At least he enjoyed it.

PS - Happy 17th monthiversary, Peter.

Pics

Pics

Pics

Why Yes, My Refrigerator Is Running.

I was cleaning up after dinner. The phone rang. I pick up and say “hello?”

 

I hear something on the other end, so I don’t automatically think it’s a telemarketer. But it could be a pollster calling to ask how pissed I am, so I figure I’ll not just hang up. But the other end sounds kind of like light breathing, so who knows what it could be.

 

Then I hear this little “huhuh” from a voice I know all too well. Only the sound came from both the phone and via my other ear. I turn around and there is Peter, with my cell phone in hand. He pushed the speed-dial for the house phone and had the phone up to his head.

 

We actually bought him a little toy cell phone the night before so he could get his kicks with that, but he still loves to play with his parents’ phones. It doesn’t matter if you turn the power off, he’ll just turn it right back on immediately. Oh, he likes the toy, it makes funny noises. But he also knows the difference between the real thing and the toy we gave him.

 

We’re going to have to stump him and give him one of those old rotary phone toys. He probably won’t have a clue what it is. Well, he shouldn’t, anyway…

Freak Like Me (And Peter's Mom)

One of the most wonderful things that The Missus and I have discovered about our no-longer-so-little bundle o'joy is that he has... wait for it... double jointed elbows! Oh yeah, baby! Daddy has double jointed elbows, and he lived a zillion years before he met someone else with double jointed elbows. When he met her he married her. Mommy lived almost a zillion years, having never met anyone else with double jointed elbows, and she married the first person she met who had that same freakish mutation. Daddy + Mommy = Peter the double jointed toddler.

We found this out when Peter strutted around, dancing with no shirt on. He looked like a 16-month-old Mick Jagger. Anyway, he'd stick out his arms, facing upward, with his arms bending back farther than a mere mortal's arms. When I saw this I knew this... is... my... son. The planets aligned, constellations pointed at our boy, and um... the sun rose in the East. Um... Yeah.

But the point can not be glossed over: Peter has joined the ranks of an elite group of people, his dad, his mom, Jesus (You think a miracle man like The Son Of God couldn't bend his arm back a little when extended? He could raise the dead!), Abraham Lincoln (Look at him! You know it.), and William Shakespeare (Have you seen his signature?).

Years from now I will teach Peter the tricks of the trade for double jointed young men, specifically, sauntering up to a desk full of ladies, leaning on that desk with the arm at a regular straightness, and then bend it back to full extension while screaming in fake pain, thus eliciting the screams of disgust and fear that only teenage or adolescent girls can emit. Just thinking of my own memories of pulling that same horrible invitation-to-a-freak-out makes me think: gooooood tiiiimes. Oh Peter, what a future you have!

Arrr, Wither Summer?

Today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day, so I'm translating the post below to conform to that...

 

't’s been a while since I put anythin' up here. I be havin' a half-written essay about takin' Peter t' th' Brewers game a tides ago, but I couldn’t post 't at th' time on accoun' o' Peter (clerelittle lad that he be) had managed t' switch off th' wireless card t' Mommy’s laptop. At first we figured 't must ben th' internal card dyin' on accoun' o' 't jus' suddenly sailed' kaput, but after lettin' Peter’s Mom go t' th' Local Best buy t' get a new card, I figured I’d jus' poke around wi' th' laptop t' make sure thar wasn’t an another issue involved. Sure enough, Peter had managed t' complete a 2-key action (fn + F2) t' turn off th' card an' I switched 't aft on th' same way. I’m sure if we had asked th' lad's t' fix 't he could be havin' done so an' saved us all th' trouble. 't sucks that he’s already more technologically savvy than me but I’m still changin' his diaper.

Anyhow, we tookst Peter t' th' Wensdee afternoon game last tides t' be seein' observe th' Brewers late-season collapse in swabbie. Peter did be havin' a good time, but so excitin' be these Brewers now that they sent Peter into a 3-innin' nap, wakin' up in time fer th' Sausage Race (th' hot dog won, jus' as I told Peter 't would. I be sure Peter thought much more highly o' his father followin' that bold prognostication). Th' Brewers won th' game, or more accurately at this point, didn’t lose. When th' game be o'er an' we be bundlin' up our stuff under th' grandstand, one o' th' ushers came up t' us an', totally ou' o' th' blue, declared that Peter “gets first place fer cuteness.” Maybe he be a voter in th' radio contest aft in April?

In other news, Peter got sea sick th' other night (Toosdee, I think). His mom spake that he had napped a lot durin' th' tide, an' round about dinner time he be pretty sluggish. He wanted t' play wi' his basketball hoop (usually he’ll dunk th' ball, give 't t' me t' shoot 't from farther away, chase 't after I miss, an' get very pepped up an' loud), but he be doin' a good imitation o' an achy old guy which isn’t one o' his usual routines. When I be helpin' th' lad's wi' his dinner I noticed that he sighed a lot an' wouldn’t eat much. Sure enough, his hade felt a wee warm. Nay hot, but warmer than usual – although his hade does heat up when he plays hard, his playin' before dinner be mostly inert, so I knew 't wasn’t that. His mother tookst th' lad's upstairs an' tried t' get th' lad's t' sleep, but e'en in his sickness he wasn’t havin' any o' 't. So he sat on th' lap o' either o' his parents until 8:30 or so until we could get th' lad's down fer th' night. Th' next mornin' I sailed' t' work worryin' that he’s got somethin', but wi' nay idee what that be. His mom called me at work later in th' mornin' wi' th' news that he be aft t' normal, 'ceptin' he wasn’t interested in eatin'. That changed by th' time dinner came around, when he be his usual robust powder keg o' explodin' toddlericity (go ahead an' spell-check that all ye like).

Wither Summer?

It’s been a while since I put anything up here. I have a half-written essay about taking Peter to the Brewers game a week ago, but I couldn’t post it at the time because Peter (clever little lad that he is) had managed to switch off the wireless card to Mommy’s laptop. At first we figured it must have been the internal card dying because it just suddenly went kaput, but after letting Peter’s Mom go to the Local Best buy to get a new card, I figured I’d just poke around with the laptop to make sure there wasn’t an another issue involved. Sure enough, Peter had managed to complete a 2-key action (fn + F2) to turn off the card and I switched it back on the same way. I’m sure if we had asked him to fix it he could have done so and saved us all the trouble. It sucks that he’s already more technologically savvy than me but I’m still changing his diaper.

 

Anyhow, we took Peter to the Wednesday afternoon game last week to see observe the Brewers late-season collapse in person. Peter did have a good time, but so exciting are these Brewers now that they sent Peter into a 3-inning nap, waking up in time for the Sausage Race (the hot dog won, just as I told Peter it would. I am sure Peter thought much more highly of his father following that bold prognostication). The Brewers won the game, or more accurately at this point, didn’t lose. When the game was over and we were bundling up our stuff under the grandstand, one of the ushers came up to us and, totally out of the blue, declared that Peter “gets first place for cuteness.” Maybe he was a voter in the radio contest back in April?

 

In other news, Peter got sick the other night (Tuesday, I think). His mom said that he had napped a lot during the day, and round about dinner time he was pretty sluggish. He wanted to play with his basketball hoop (usually he’ll dunk the ball, give it to me to shoot it from farther away, chase it after I miss, and get very pepped up and loud), but he was doing a good imitation of an achy old guy which isn’t one of his usual routines. When I was helping him with his dinner I noticed that he sighed a lot and wouldn’t eat much. Sure enough, his head felt a little warm. Not hot, but warmer than usual – although his head does heat up when he plays hard, his playing before dinner was mostly inert, so I knew it wasn’t that. His mother took him upstairs and tried to get him to sleep, but even in his sickness he wasn’t having any of it. So he sat on the lap of either of his parents until 8:30 or so until we could get him down for the night. The next morning I went to work worrying that he’s got something, but with no idea what that was. His mom called me at work later in the morning with the news that he was back to normal, except he wasn’t interested in eating. That changed by the time dinner came around, when he was his usual robust powder keg of exploding toddlericity (go ahead and spell-check that all you like).

He also says "Goo"

Peter gave me a message to pass on:

 

Deweydeweydeweydeweydewey! Deweydeweydeweydeweydewey! Deweydeweydeweydeweydewey!

 

To get the full effect, you have to visualize an almost naked Peter running around - or, I should say, running away from anyone who might try to put a shirt or pants on him. What does it mean? I'm not sure yet, but he's very emphatic whenever he says it, so it must be important.

Sixteen Candles

Today Peter turns 16 months old, and his parents also mark the 3rd anniversary of their wedding. Isn’t Peter older than that? Haven’t The Missus and I been married longer than that? I mean, 16 months? I used to be able to hold my breath that long. But Peter’s been around only that long? It feels like he’s been walking for 16 months. And our wedding was only three years ago? I coulda swore Peter was there, and Reagan was President, and I wore a powder blue tux…

 

Anyhow, Peter has been working on saying the letter G. He’ll spout out “go go” and “gooo gooo”s every now and then. He’s also doing more Ds, so we were trying to bait him into putting the two vowels together to say “dog,” but he was content to watch his parents look like fools. That’s what he does. He’ll say something, get us excited and have us try to get him to say it again, all while smiling at how he can make us look like over-eager kids at a toy store begging their parents for the latest fad. He’s such a meanie some times.

The Terror of the Examination Room

Peter had a doctor's visit this morning. He was the first of the day for the doctor. We walked in and he started remembering the place. At first he was quiet and still, perhaps hoping it was just a visit to the front desk and nothing more. He even saw the nurse out there and kept his cool. But, being the first patient of the day, there was no wait so the nurse said we could go back to the examination room.


The trip to the examination room brought something out of Peter that had been missing for what seems like quite a while: The Lip. The Lip was quickly followed by a wail of fear that was sirenlike. Peter has a good memory, but honestly his previous visits to the doctor have never resulted in any pain to him. Perhaps he has ESP. Anyhow, he has identified Tamara - the nurse - as his enemy. Which is too bad since she's actually very nice, but he doesn't take his eyes off her when she's in the room, and points at her and cries. It's hard to watch him be terrified like that, but it's funny in retrospect (sorry, buddy). Tamara said she'd used to it, kids normally learn to hate her until they're at least 3 years old. But he gets his head measured and screams; he gets measured and screams; he gets weighed and screams. Actual pain experienced: None.

His doctor came in and checked him out, all while Peter contorted and cried. Again, nothing that would actually hurt.

Tamara came back to give him his first shot. Getting him ready for it? Hell. Afterwards? Like he didn't feel a thing. All day, actually. We were told he'd have a sore arm. Nothing. It's like it never happened...

Anyway, for anyone keeping score at home, he wound up in the 50th percentile for height and weight, and 75th in head size (big brain). We thought he'd be higher up in height, but considering that he gets measured while lying down, and that he simply won't lie down unless he's sleeping, we're not sure if he was really stretched out fully. So let's just say he's in the 55th percentile for height, ok?

Another thing we've found out is that Peter has figured out how to turn the power off the comput

Catching up...

I notice I haven't posted anything since the end of July. We've been busy, but there are some Peter tidbits to report.

He's 15 ½ months old now, and like a teenager he gets moody. We think it has to do with growth spurts and teething, but he gets cranky a lot more easily now. It might also be that his energy levels are adjusting to a one-nap-a-day cycle.

He went to his cousin Ethan's 5th birthday party in Madison over the weekend and ran around and played most of the day Saturday. He also partied at Irishfest Friday night. Sunday saw a lot of activity, too. All of that added up into an epic crash Sunday night around 7:00-ish. We had to change hs diaper at about 9:30 that night, and boy was he not thrilled about that. It's bad enough that he rarely lies down for a diaper changing, but add in being extremely tired and irritable and you have a diaper changing that probably annoyed the whole neighborhood.

He's also gotten back into screeching again. Repeatedly. I think the pitch of his voice might be lowering a little, but the shriek is still piercing. Especially in the car.

Peter has a doctor's visit this Saturday morning. We're very curious to find out what his measurements are and the percentiles, too. I'm betting his height and head size will be high on the scale, and his weight trailing behind. While he feels heavy when we haul him around, he's lean, so I'm thinking there are shorter, pudgier kids who probably weigh more. But he's tall with long limbs, and he's grown out of his shoes and hats, so he's pretty much getting bigger by the day.

We also know he's smart. First he figured out how to wiggle out of the arm straps of his car seat, and after we tightened them so he couldn't do that any more he just figured out how to undo the buckle that held them together.

We also took him to the State Fair a couple weeks ago. He got excited to see the livestock, but it was the chickens and rabbits that really got him pumped up. Probably because he isn't something less that 10% of the size of a chicken or bunny. But there were some chickens with funky feathers, so he probably found them more engaging than a heifer chewing on straw.

Oh, yeah...

Last night there was a bicycle race in Whitefish Bay (our future crib, yo) and we took Peter to go see the excitement. He had seen one last year - the Downer Avenue race when he was about 2 1/2 months old (he loved it, I swear) - so this was nothing new for him. We thought the race was going to start at 5:00, but the pros didn't get going until 6:15, and in that time the we were waiting Peter got pumped up to play with the other kids who were also waiting for the race. He ran up and down the boulevard we were sitting on, either going for a run on his own or chasing the bigger kids. I don't know if it was by design or just luck, but his chasing only caught one prey, little Henry Clark, and he got him repeatedly. Henry wasn't thrilled having a 14 month old trying to tackle him so I'd have to pick Peter up and bring him back to base camp. But he'd waste no time in running back into the action. This had an effect on him physically, and one could easily see his mind trying to push him places his feet couldn't take him. At one point he fell in front of one of the moms of the neighborhood, and in getting up he grabbed a handfull of grass and tossed it joyously in the air - only to have most of it land on the mom. I told her he was just practicing his lawn maintenance then ran after the very tanned streak as he shot off towards Henry again.

Eventually his legs told a story that his mouth refused to recount, and I dragged him back to our seating area and strapped him into his stroller. I felt his head and it was hotter than the blacktop that had been sitting out in the sun all afternoon. He then whined and pointed at his juice box, and chugged just about everything in it before accidentally squirting out the rest into his face. It made him a little sticky, but I'm sure it cooled him off.

By the time the race started Peter was cooled off but his butt was dragging. He wanted to play, but, as noted in Blade Runner, the light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and Peter's light was blinding that evening. We left after about 5 laps of a 70-something lap race and I strapped Peter into his car seat. He shrieked and cried like it was the worst thing in the world, but he was asleep in the car by the time we hit the highway. He slept pretty well that night, but none of us were too keen on getting up in the morning.

The value of language

Peter is developing nicely, but I find myself swinging between the poles of wishing he could speak words (clearly, at least) and hoping he stays just the way he is. Just this evening I, for lack of a better way of saying it, nagged him that he needs to use words in order to better define his pointing and whining. Then later this evening he strutted around squealing, and I found myself loving the pure juvenile joy of the noise. He will start speaking fully formed English sentences to me, and I will greatly appreciate the coherence of the message. But will it be the same?

Pictures, pictures, pictures

Pictures, pictures, pictures

Pictures, pictures, pictures

Pictures, pictures, pictures