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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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.

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