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.