no sleep, just dreams

Three years ago tonight, I had no idea what lie ahead of me. A little before midnight, my water broke, setting off a chain of events that was alternately thrilling and terrifying, and while things have mellowed out since then, it's safe to say that nothing has been the same.

Well, OK, some things are the same all over again. I'm currently rolling around for hours at a time, pulling out my hair at sleepless night after sleepless night. I'm carrying around a ridiculously oversized belly that keeps me from moving quickly and squeezing into small spaces (critical toddler coping skills). And I'm soaking up every minute of back-East-time, basking in the idea that I get to stay here for more than two weeks, but dreading the though that I might not be back for a long time.

This Christmas we're seeing signs of what things might be like in the future: Luke jumping out of bed on Christmas morning, breathlessly announcing, "Santa is coming!" Sam and Luke and Lily sitting by themselves at the kids' table, conversing among themselves. Luke and Sam picking out a book and curling up on a chair to read it together. Are these the same little helpless infants who we used to carry around in car seats?

Three years ago, all Dave and I knew was that there was this tiny, extremely loud and messy human being who was all of a sudden our round-the-clock responsibility. The idea of it was almost too much to process. Now I look at our little mop-headed builder/drummer/guitar player and I listen to him chatter away, and I think, how could I even imagine a life without him?

I tell Dave that he is the love of my life because I chose him, he chose me, and we choose to live our lives together every day. It doesn't have to do with blood or obligation; it's the purest expression of free will that we want to be together. But my love for Luke is different; almost more physical. In my weepy hormonal state, I can sometimes picture an imaginary umbilical cord connecting me to him in a way that can never be broken.

Last night when Luke couldn't/wouldn't go to sleep, I finally just let him run around while I sat blocking the door. At some point his steam ran out and he collapsed in my lap, burying his head in my chest and inhaling deeply. Finally, he raised a tired head up to look at me and said, "You smell good, Mommy." At the end of the day, it's those little words, and the full-body hugs, and the sloppy kisses that always outweigh the most trying episdes of the day. I love you, my three-year-old boy, and I can't imagine it any other way.

light in the darkness

So we had a Santa pic; now it's time for the equal-opportunity Hanukkah pic. Sadly, it isn't quite equal opportunity. Luke's been so busy absorbing all of the details of Christmas, Santa, and reindeer that it felt like sort of an afterthought last week when I said to him, "So there's this other holiday that we celebrate called Hanukkah...." Lots of information to process this week.

Aw, heck. The truth is, mostly I haven't blogged because I didn't want the footie pajama post to be pushed further down on the screen. Guess I can't hold out forever though.

Things that bumped me up this week:

*Offers and counter-offers on our house
*Seeing our meatball trying to suck its thumb, missing, and then turning to face the screen and moving its jaw up and down in laughter. That's really refined humor among the 16-week-old fetus set - looks like we have a comedian in there!
*Watching Luke very solemnly use his new doctor kit on his bear with a tummy ache and saying, "Your tummy hurts? Hmmm. Just a minute," then going over and consulting the pamphlet in the doctor's kit. "This says 'How to Fix a Bear.'"
*Finally getting at least one good night's sleep following several early wakenings.

Things that made me say 'hmmmm.'

*Playing with Luke at the park, urging him not to leave his hammer lying around because "someone might take it," then watching him become extremely interested in the idea of someone taking it. He stopped all further play, placed the hammer in the middle of the path, then sat in wait for some kid to come and take it. At some point I just put the hammer away. Then he did the same thing with his green measuring cup. Finally some little kid walked by, picked up the cup, and then put it down in pursuit of some other toy. As we were leaving the park, Luke told me (and did I detect a note of pride in this?) "When we were at the park some kid took my toys!"

*Taking Luke to a family holiday party, and watching him progressively fall apart more each time some kid took 'his' toy. Funny, he's happy with just one kid around...and plenty happy with a room full of adults...but once you introduce party chaos and kid free-for-all, he doesn't seem to want to hold his own.

The latter might have been explained by the onset of yet another cold. Last night it manifested itself with Luke declaring that there were orange monsters in his room, and then making repeated trips out of his room and into my side of the bed throughout the night. Funny enough, he was perfectly happy this morning. Let's hope he (and I) can all stay healthy enough for the next 48 hours to have an uneventful flight back East.

flying

My two least favorite words have now become "subchorionic hematoma." That said, my two new favorite words are "fine to fly."

Oh, that and what Luke said to Santa tonight. He asked for candy, and then he told Santa he "I want Mommy to feel better."

my heart, it wears striped footie pajamas

Is it so wrong to just watch Luke toddle around in the morning and totally swoon? Here he is, with his little sturdy body, giving us a constant narration of his activities while he alternates between flipping pancakes on his bed, fixing a chair with a hammer, solemnly strumming his guitar. It's ironic, because the same small person who is such a delight in the morning can be such a pain at the end of the day that I can't wait for him to go to sleep, but by the time the sun is up, I can't wait to hear his footsteps coming back to see me again.

On our vacation we got to see the best and the worst of times; the best being when he was surrounded by adults and confidently chatting away about various foods and activities. At our favorite Mexican restaurant he struck up a conversation with the big burly manager on the way out: "Thank you for dinner. I got some candy from the candy bowl. It was just like when I was trick-or-treating." We could barely keep from cracking up, when, walking away from this conversation, we heard Luke quietly saying to himself, "That was a very nice man."

At our favorite Japanese steakhouse last night, we could almost hear the groans at our communal table when all of the other already-seated couples saw us sitting down with a toddler. But Luke was on perfect, bordering on angelic behavior throughout the evening; saying "please" and "thank you" to everyone; laughing at all the appropriate jokes that the chef made; and quietly eating his rice with chopsticks when he wasn't being spoken to. It was as if there was a halo over his Little Lord Fauntleroy suit. Everyone complimented him at the end of the meal for being such a delight.

And yet...as night and tiredness overtake us, we see the demonic flip side of all this sweetness. The first night it was a whine that turned into a nonsensical tirade on the way home from the drugstore: "Daddy turn the car around. I want the white notepad, not the yellow one. Turn the car around! I want the white one!!! Nooooooo!" and so on for 20-plus minutes.

Last night it was even worse, coming down from the steakhouse high, when he turned into his rarely seen utter non-compliance mode during teeth-brushing and bed-putting. Dave put him to bed, over loud protests, to the point where I swear he was still saying, "I want MOMMY!!!" as he slipped into sleep.

By 1 a.m. the reasons for the sudden shift in behavior became more apparent when he woke up crying that his ear hurt. Ugh. Back to sleep by 2 a.m. And back up at 6:30. And back to sleep until 9 a.m., with the extra time feeling more like a necessity than a bonus.

Tonight we're back at home and Luke is a little glassy-eyed and dopey, and - am I allowed to say this? - I kind of like him this way. He's all cuddly, and affectionate, and all he wants to do is curl up and snuggle in bed and watch music with me. There's no edge to his sickness tonight; it's just pure droopiness. And it just makes my heart swell even more. I watched him fall asleep tonight and then listened to him for a little while and wondered about him as a four, ten, or even fifteen-year-old. Will I look back without remembering the ugly tirades, and just long for the snuggly footie pajama times again?

vacation, all I ever wanted

Here we are in Palm Springs, or a close proximity, and I'm tapping away to the dimmest light in our room while Luke is sleeping and making impossibly cute baby murmering noises in the background. I was feeling somewhat light-hearted and happy, but now that I read Joe's blog I'm mired in gloom and sadness. My biggest complaint right now is there's not much of a view from our otherwise well-appointed hotel room, so what is in fact my problem?

Pause for deep sigh.

Luke has been asking friends and his teachers for days, "Do you love Palm Springs?" He's been almost as excited as any one of us about this trip, and yet once we're here it's been hard for him to identify exactly which part is Palm Springs. "Is this Palm Springs?" he's been asking, at the outlet stores, pulling into the hotel, in the lobby lounge, and again at breakfast. One thing he knows for sure is In N Out burger. Yesterday he napped on the long drive here and seemed to wake up with a start when we passed an In N Out burger on the freeway in the middle of who-knows-where. "That's In N Out Burger!" he declared, and then promptly turned his head, shut his eyes, and fell back into a deep sleep. It's a special kind of radar.

This resort is...hmmm...a little strange, at least for our current needs. They're bending over backwards to make it a great stay for us. When we got in we asked if we could get a refrigerator (aside from the super-full minibar), and within moments a man came in wheeling a fridge that's about twice the size of what I had in my college dorm room (no charge). But our special rate/stay here seems to have forced us into some kind of 90-minute sales-presentation-that's-not-a-sales-presentation, which we may or may not be able to get out of tomorrow. Plus the resort as a whole is very spread out, with only sporadic golf-cart-shuttle stops, and you have to walk sizable distances to places like the lobby, restaurants, pools, etc. That would be fine if I were at a normal activity level but since I'm not really supposed to be walking at all I've been depending on Dave to chauffer me/us on ridiculously short car trips. Today I watched Luke in the hotel's kiddie park while Dave was on a work call; dealt with a meltdown when I told Luke he couldn't dig in the sand in the parking lot with the croquet mallets, and then wound up catching the next available shuttle-to-anywhere in complete mom desperation. I can't tell any of the buildings apart, so I had the driver drop us off at the corporate center, thinking it was the main lobby, and then there we were, stranded, sans Dave, watching some bored suits talk on their cell phones. So it's been a little strange.

I told Dave today that I would love to be enjoying this vacation at my normal pace and at a normal anxiety level but almost every vigorous movement reminds me that everything is still not quite OK with my body, and I'm worried. It doesn't feel so good. Let's hope Luke is able to at least remain somewhat oblivious and enjoy the rest of the time here.

little earthquakes

Luke has been waking up early for some unknown reason; for the last two weekend days he's simply getting up and crawling into our bed (which is OK at, say, 6:15; but not OK at 4:30 because either way I won't fall asleep afterwards).

This morning Dave and I were awakened at 6:20 not by our little earth-mover, but by a real-deal earthquake rattling the windows. OK, a micro-earthquake, magnitude 2.7, but still, it was noisy for all of 5 seconds.

Luke for reasons yet unknown slept through the whole event, and in fact kept sleeping until an almost unheard of 7:40. Why he chose to do this on Earthquake Monday, rather than, say, a weekend day when we might have liked the extra sleep is also unknown.

Incidentally, I went on the main earthquake site almost immediately afterwards to check magnitude, location, and to fill out the "Did you feel it?" forms. Dave says, "Who bothers to talk about 2.7 magnitude earthquakes besides people from the East Coast?" Turns out more than 100 people from our town had already filled it out - guess we're all transplants.

Sunday papers

The scene: Luke and I are reading the hardware ads in the Sunday paper together.

Luke: "What's that, Mommy?"
Me (reading the ad text): "That's called a Sawzall."
Luke: "Hmmm. Mommy, I think that's called a reciprocating saw."

Phone home

One question a person might ask is, how many more days is Jeanne going to spend primarily in bed? That is a very good question and Luke and Dave and I would all like to know the answer. Following yet another scare on Wednesday I'm back to the mattress with a laptop and a few DVDs as my constant companions.

One thing that has really emerged as a trend over the past week, as Dave runs around town with Luke fulfilling all of my various errands, is that Luke finds talking on the phone irresistable. He and Dave could be gone for less than two minutes and if I call, he wants to get on the phone.

"Hi Mommy. We were at Home Depot. We were at the Tool Corral. We saw saws, drills, sanders, jackhammers...Now we are going to In N Out burger to get some milkshake and French fries..." and this could go on for hours.

He sounds so serious and so authoritative on the phone that I've been forgetting he's not even three yet. I dictate my food orders on the phone to him ("Beef burrito." "Double mushroom pizza") (Yes, that's how we've been eating for the past week). Today I talked to him after his eye doctor appointment and he asked me if I needed Dave to go to the farmers' market. That had both of us scratching our heads because how did he know it was Friday? (We sent him to school today even though it's not his regular school day.) And how did he know I was thinking of asking Dave to go to the farmers' market?

If anyone calls while we're at home, he'll be going out of his skin until he gets a chance to have his say. Dave was on the phone with the newspaper subscription office the other day and I thought Luke was going to pop a blood vessel, trying to get near the phone to say hi to the lady.

Wednesday Luke and I passed the time by calling assorted friends and relatives and leaving them messages. Did anyone get them? Because we have a small boy here who really, really wants to talk to you.

The $2 question

Spending the past four days bed-bound has given me lots of time to ponder big questions. Such as, while we watch Luke's language skills take off, which is funnier/cooler? The things he knows or the things he gets wrong?

We're still laughing about when he aked Grandma Bobbie if she had a pool in her house and before she could register her surprise he added, "I was just kidding." And of course we got a big kick out of the lengthy story he told us about how he needed to pack his suitcase because he was getting on an airplane tomorrrow, by himself, to go to San Diego for two weeks, to do some work.

But I can't help laughing when he comes close but doesn't quite get something right. As in:

The "skeleton board" (bulletin board, which we just happened to hang up around Halloween)
The "bull-zoh-der" (bulldozer) in the empty lot
"Will you draw me a smelly face?" (smiley face)
"Is he Spanishing?" (when Raffi was saying something in French)
"That's the biggest hammer I've never seen!"
"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a walking bird."
And of course the big family dinner disrupted by song: "I know an old lady who swallowed a PIE! Fuh-naps she'll die!" (pause for gusty swig of milk) "Fuh-naps she'll die!"

Then there's "This is called robbers," which he says whenever he sees a hot dog, some roast beef, or a table full of food. It's not even worth trying to explain but suffice to say Dave and I have been laughing about it all week.

I'm still in bed this afternoon and Luke is perhaps a little perturbed or disturbed about my lack of activity. That said, he's been a great help, along with Dave, bringing me food, books, DVDs. I think we're all looking forward to when I can get a vertical perspective on things...

pinecone seltzer

Something about Luke's cheery talkativeness around strangers inspires them to give him things. Like the waiter (not ours) he befriended at the restaurant who was suddenly inspired to offer Luke his pick of desserts from behind the bakery counter (Oreo cheesecake, which he didn't really like anyway). Or the waitress named Pat at our truck-stop breakfast joint who brings him a muffin before we even order. Or the homeless lady on the beach who stopped her cart to offer Luke a small snack bag. (Luke: "What was that lady trying to give me?" Papa: "A bag of cookies." Luke (nonstop for the next hour): "I want to go back to the BEACH! And see the LADY! And eat some COOOOOOOKIES!")

We've been living it up for the past few days with Grandma Joan and Papa in tow; strolling through town at the merchants' holiday open house and seeing reindeer and (inexplicably) a zebra; walking to the beach; day-tripping to the mission; baking and cooking and eating incessantly. Yesterday, on our sunny cloud-free day at the mission, it was one of those rare times when by about 2 pm all I could think about was how much I would love to rewind the day and get to do it all over again. There wasn't a single bad moment that I would have been unhappy about reliving.

Luke is astounding us with his sense of direction. Even at nighttime he can tell you where we are ("There's the doctor's office! There's In N Out Burger! There's the 99 Cents store!"). Grandma Joan tripped and fell about a block from our house when we were walking home the other night; two days later, when we were approaching the same block from a different direction, Luke called out, "Grandma Joan! Be careful! Don't trip and fall!" Everyone started laughing, but perhaps hadn't even realized that we were about to be in the same place where she fell. Then when she stepped over the fateful crack, he said, "Make sure you walk in the middle where it's nice and straight!"

There may have been significant, weighty moments during our visit but the times that we are most likely to remember are the most ridiculous, because Luke wants to re-tell them ad nauseum. I'll let him tell this story: "Grandma Joan was clearing the table for dinner. She picked up the pinecone but by mistake she dropped it into Papa's seltzer! Papa picked it out but then he said, 'It's OK, I'll drink it anyway!'" (followed by fits of uncontrollable laughter).

This visit could perhaps best be characterized by the sound of non-stop toddler conversation. Being in a long drive on the freeway brings out the worst of it. Tonight when we got home from Long Beach, we had had our ears completely talked off for the last 45 minutes. Dave, in the front seat, pulled out his wallet and said to Dad, "Here's the $4 I owe you." I wasn't sure what it was from so I asked them jokingly, "Did you two have a wager of some kind?" "Yeah," said Dave grimly,"Four bucks says this kid doesn't shut up the whole way home."

Name that tune

It is cracking us up that whenever someone asks Luke his name now, he answers with first and last names (usually resulting in a polite, "What?"). It could be a function of being one of just too many Lukes. Or it could be a function of a new growing skill of being able to identify your full name, the town where you live, your parents' names, etc.

In fact, Luke has a whole cadre of different names that he keeps stored up for special occasions. When he's working as a worker or builder, he prefers to be called Harry. (Sort of an offshoot of wanting to be called "Scary" when he was a painter.) Lately, he's been asking me to call him "Team" (most likely a direct outgrowth of when we're getting all of our stuff ready to go somewhere and I say, "Come on team, let's go!")

He's also excited about the idea of being someone's friend. Like after we visited Mom and Dad (and Mark), Luke went around proudly identifying himself as "Mark's friend." Sometimes he'll take it a step further when he calls me, "Daddy's friend."

Of course, he doesn't always get names quite right. Yesterday before he left school he was talking with one of the teachers from the older kids' class. Later I asked him what her name was. "Her name is... (pause for deep thinking) ... Lawn..der..ee" "Laundry? Like a laundry hamper?" I asked, incredulously. "Hmmm. Yes. Laundry," he declared. That's one I'm going to have to investigate further.

So lately I've been feeding my amusement by asking him what we should name various characters or animals. He will give it a great deal of thought, and then often settle on the old standby "Harry." But sometimes he'll surprise us. Yesterday I asked him what he thought were the names of two cats in a book we were reading. "Their names are Harry and... (pause for deep thinking) ...Keet." Keet? I don't know where that came from but it has a nice, jaunty, feline kind of sound to it.

Last night when we came home from work and school I surprised Luke with a two-foot-high nutcracker. As expected, he was beside himself with delight. Lacking nuts to crack, he amused himself by flattening chunks of play-doh and announcing that he was working with his new "machine."

"What do you think we should name the nutcracker?" I asked him over dinner. This was apparently a great question because he literally had to tip his head back and scrunch his eyes closed to think about it. "I think we should name him... (pause for deep thinking) ... Sis." So that's our new nutcracker: tall, bearded, standing sternly in uniform with axe in hand. Go ahead and call him Sis. I'm sure he'll endure worse in the coming weeks.

Sunday, no words necessary

Mistakes were made

Sure, Halloween was great. It was the day after that was really scary. Mistake #1: I vowed not to use the car all day, so I pushed Luke in the stroller from the library, to downtown for lunch, to a toy store, and then back home. By the time we got home, I was completely wiped and Luke hadn't had any physical exertion all day. Naptime was a battle royale. I would have been glad to skip the nap altogether except I could tell from his protests that underneath his bravado, there was a super-tired kid just waiting to collapse. After his last-ditch attempt to cry for Daddy, he finally gave up the fight, conking out completely in my arms at an unreasonably late 3 pm, and having to be roused from some sub-human hibernation phase at 5 pm.

At class that night, I told the teacher I was glad to see that the discussion topic was temper tantrums, because the afternoon had been such a mess. "Oh, you just have to write off the day after Halloween entirely," she told me. Now why didn't someone think to tell me this earlier?

Luckily Luke has the presence of mind to remember these things and talk through the post-mortem. That night, it was a topic he couldn't get enough of: "What did Mommmy say when it was time to go to sleep? What did Lukey say? I was MAD!"

On Friday I drove to the park and gave Luke plenty of running-around time; then we had friends over for lunch and wore ourselves out running around the house. By the time naptime rolled around Luke seemed tired enough and we had even joked about how Wednesday's debacle wasn't going to repeat itself. We sat down in bed to read stories...and then...more nap protest! I decided to let Luke run around (safely confined to my room and his) while I took a breather in my bed. That was fine until he took Dave's basket of coins and dumped it into our laundry hamper. I marched him back to bed and kept him there until again, he gave up the fight.

On the way to dinner that night, Luke told Dave, "Daddy, at naptime, I made some mistakes." Dave gave me a sideways glance and asked Luke what kind of mistakes he made. "I dumped your money into your basket and Mommy was MAD. But I was MAD because Mommy said 'it's time to go to sleep' and I said 'no, no, no!'" "Well, thank you for being honest with me," Dave said. The next afternoon Dave put him down for a nap without even a whimper.

Lest it start to sound like Luke is all-Daddy, all the time (which he sort of is), I should point out that Luke and I are quite a pair in the kitchen. It's been progressively more fun as we unpack the kitchen boxes and find new tools that I have to think of some immediate use for. When we unpacked the meat grinder, we made chicken salad. When we found the Foley food mill, we made cranberry sauce. When we found the potato masher and the nut grinder, we made banana bread with a brown sugar/walnut topping. This morning we pulled out a little pie plate and Luke made an apple/Lego pie, which come to think of it, is still "cooking" on his little grill.

When we cuddled up on Sunday morning, he said to me, "You're a good cooker, Mommy. You're a good breakfast cooker, you're a good lunch cooker, you're a good dinner cooker..."

*sniff* See? I can't have made that many mistakes...

candy man

Is it the hormones that just made me want to cry today when I came home and saw my completely grown-up boy, in full doctor regalia? "How was your day, Luke?" I asked. "Pretty good, Mommy. Thanks for asking," came the reply from the man with the stethoscope.

Dave and Luke went out to trick or treat in the all-out Halloween part of town (think adults pulling wagons down the street, lit up with a fully stocked bar) and Luke was an undeniable hit with all of the grownups. When they came home, Luke told me all about the mummy who asked him for help with her bandages and the house decked out like a pirate ship where they gave out candy money. "I can eat bubble gum because I'm big enough and I'm strong enough," he informed me. "You're not strong enough, Mommy." Hmmmm.

Shortly afterwards I became a patient at the "hopsidal" while he operated on my leg. Then he finally peeled off the doctor's outfit for a jaunt in the pool with Dave. "I'm surfing, Mommy!" he's calling in to me while I'm sitting at the computer.

Who's this grownup guy?

black humor

Shortly after the last time I wrote, Luke spent a morning vomiting repeatedly, and ultimately turning into little more than a wet noodle of a guy before he fell asleep for an early nap. Ninety minutes later, he bounced out of bed, bright and cheery, announcing, "I have to brush my hair!" (which he did) before continuing on to a perfectly normal day. Is it possible that things that seem completely bad on the surface are actually just plain funny? Like me finding a wavy grey hair on my head the other day? Or me using the bathroom at the doctor's office, then checking out at the front desk, walking through the reception area, walking through the parking lot, doing an entire grocery shopping trip, only to come home and have Dave tell me that there was a long strand of toilet paper hanging out the back of my pants? Or me writing the perfect little journal entry, the blog equivalent to the Great American Novel, only to have it disappear into thin air as Blogger crashed? Funny, indeed.

It's been a long week, with Dave gone two nights, followed by two nights of special activities, which have left me feeling completely spent. Luke was sorely missing Dave by the end of his trip (Dave to Luke on the phone: "I'm staying in a hotel" Luke to Dave: "Does it have a pool?") and I was sorely missing some relief from endless readings of "Little Pig" (the Three Little Pigs).

But "It's almost Halloween," as Luke keeps reminding us, and the excitement continues to build. We had a special Trick-or-Treat night at our Wednesday night class and Luke was a little skeptical at first. ("I just want to watch," he told us.) Soon he caught on to the idea that if he planned it just right he could get a lollipop from every trick-or-treat station.

Thursday afternoon, without a trace of irony, Luke went with me to the dentist, which was another big hit. "Are you going to use the drill yet?" he kept asking her. Then by Thursday evening, when we went trick-or-treating at Bill's mom's senior home, Luke was a Halloween pro. He had the whole door-knocking and "thank you" routine down pretty well, until he was somewhat unduly frightened by some big kids with face-covering masks. But he did get to eat two chocolate bars plus an oatmeal cookie, so there was at least something redeeming in the whole day.

Strangely, this whole time, Luke has been telling everyone from his teachers to the lady behind the pizza counter that he is going to be a "push-car" for Halloween. I think what he means by this is the railroad trestle car that the skeletons are pushing on our neighbor's Halloween display, but I have no idea how this translates into a toddler costume. I've managed to con him into wearing his doctor's scrubs two different times now, once for Bill's mom's, and once yesterday for a toddler Halloween parade that was little more than a few moms pushing strollers in a circle (Luke: "Where's the parade?").

Today I had the joy of watching Dave and Luke carve pumpkins together; tomorrow is downtown trick-or-treating. By actual Halloween I think this novelty will be pretty much spent. Although Halloween is supposedly a big deal in our new neighborhood our plan, for now, is to take it easy and just answer the doorbell. Here's to a weeklong sugar high.

jellyfish

Warning ahead: This may be the most boring blog entry ever because it has no theme or predetermined direction. You know, I would blog more if I didn't feel like I might be sick any moment. But hey, don't feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for Luke. I picked him up from school yesterday like a rag doll, coughing and whimpering with his trademark red over-wiped upper lip. Teacher Melissa said he wasn't able to sleep at naptime, so he was extra-tired and rolled around on the floor throughout dinner, refusing to eat and generally being inconsolable. I put him to bed almost an hour early but he woke up within 1/2 hour due to a mega coughing fit, and we had to go through the whole bedtime routing again to settle him down. How do people do it with more than one?

I'm sure there are a lot of fun Luke stories I could be sharing but it's hard to bring them to mind when I'm so me-focused right now. We went to a massive birthday party at an indoor playground on Sunday and while it was slightly overstimulating for Luke, it completely wore me out beyond repair. I slept for two hours when we got home and then later in the afternoon declined the invitation to go to the pier and the aquarium with Luke and Dave and Suzi and Bill in favor of vegging out on the couch and generally doing nothing productive. When we got home, Luke approached me cautiously: "Are you feeling alright?" (I guess he can't conceive of any reason why a person would choose not to go and see jellyfish.)

We're warming up to the Halloween season and let me first give thanks to all of the cooler voices that prevailed in preventing me from hosting a Halloween party. I'm not sure what I would have done, as I haven't even been able to keep myself on track, let alone do any kind of party planning. I'm considering taking him to a few different Halloween-type events and I'm trying to weigh the scare factor vs. the overwhelmedness factor vs. the sweets obsession factor for each one. The main question remains: Will he wear his doctor costume? And then: Will he stop obsessing about candy long enough to just enjoy the holiday for what it is? And then: Will he have nightmares for weeks to come about scary stuff? He told me that he was scared by a jellyfish he saw at school the other day, so there's no telling what might haunt his little brain late at night.

Speaking of the sweets obsession factor: We all know Luke is obsessed with gumballs for whatever reason, but the larger reality is, he just seems to be a sweets junkie. I'm trying not to make it a forbidden fruit, but it's all he wants to talk about eating. On Friday Luke helped me make chocolate chip cookies with the mixer (a big treat) and the pile of remaining cookies (that is, the ones that didn't burn to a crisp on the as-yet-unexplored bottom shelf of the oven, setting off the smoke alarm for 10 minutes, but that's another story...) proved to be too much of a temptation for the entire weekend. But he's ever-optimistic about the possibility that any meal might be an excuse for a marshmallow, or ice cream, or some other super-sugar treat.

I made him a yogurt "milkshake" the other morning and he was thoroughly unimpressed. When we got home last night I tried to cheer him up by hauling out the mixer again so we could make pudding, which I thought would be a big hit, but he turned that down too. Maybe he saw how much milk went into it and realized it might actually have nutritional value. He keeps talking about a kid from school named Sammy who brings "gummies" for lunch. Could it be gummy bears? Or gummy fruit? I have no idea, but I figure it's only a matter of time before there's some serious lunch-swapping going on around here.

tooled out

What to say, really, after a great week with everyone and all of Luke's tool fantasies fulfilled? He got to use the post-hole digger, drill press, all manners of saws, and had other extravagances like apple-picking and tractor-riding. Oh, and of course seeing Papa and Gamma Joan and Uncle Joe, Aunt Sara, Sam, Lily, and the dogs made it all worthwhile.

The good news was that we made it through the flight on the way home and I have that particular stressor out of my system. My favorite image is of Luke walking down the darkened aisle toward the bathrooms, with his crazy shoes sending red-and-blue flashing lights ricocheting around the plane and causing various disoriented passengers to lift their heads up from sleep with a somewhat alarmed, "Huh?"

By the time we landed, we had reached the absolute threshold of exhaustion, with me sitting comatose in the back seat on the way home from the airport, and Luke finally giving it up once we got home, unable to even finish the marshmallow sitting in front of him. "I'm finished," he croaked. Luke slept in, spent about an hour in the pool in the morning, then took a long siesta on Sunday. As for me, I never even made it out of the house all day.

Luke is settling back in but is probably feeling a little tool withdrawal. He was bugging Dave about wanting to use the drill press again until Dave finally came back with, "Luke, you have already used at least three different drill presses and you are not even three years old. I didn't use my first drill press until I was 33!"

Dave and I have had to face some crushing realities about the direction that the market seems to be headed and the complete lack of homebuyers out there right now. We've had some tough conversations in the past few days and we just sucked it up this morning and made one more big price cut, which will hopefully put us more in line with our competition. The sad fact is, it's a far different market than even a month ago when everyone was telling us how well-priced our house was. Now we're going to hunker down and hope for some action before the home-buying dead zone that is Thanksgiving/Christmas. For now, all I'm thinking of is just making it through the week.

blog-nanza

It's been so long since I've posted a picture that I have a blog-picture backup of sorts. Luke is a little cranky this weekend because he has a cold, but he's otherwise fine and funny. I thought I'd just jot down a few trends of the last few weeks:






1) Wanting to be buried up to his neck: This can be traced back to Sam at the beach, or any number of our beach books, or curiously, a William Wegman photo called "Pup Pot" that cracks Luke up every time he sees it. At any rate, he loves being inside something (sheets, laundry hamper, sand, afghan) and poking his head out. This afternoon when he was supposed to be taking a nap he wandered out and I brought him back into his room, to find his hamper in the middle of the floor. "I was doing Pup Pot," he explained sheepishly.








2) All things are tools: The house is a mess because basically everything that Luke can get his hands on becomes a new tool for the workshop. I'll find my kitchen spoons, writing utensils, and any manner of musical instruments being used to build. The squeegee from the bathroom became a hammer until he whacked several large chunks out of our new coffee table. We had to absolutely hide the putty. Yesterday at Home Depot Luke was desperate to have his hands on a tool, so I gave him a metal supply line from the toilet/plumbing department. Of course we didn't buy it and of course Luke was mad this morning: "Where's my supply line?" he demanded. We also bought Luke a tricycle recently and as he peddles around on it, he announces, "This is a leaf cutter!" as if he doesn't want to damage his worker's street cred by being seen on a tricycle. (Incidentally, when we last saw Dave's parents, we were laughing about Luke making something into a circular saw, and Dave's dad reminded us that Dave could be counted on at around Luke's age to be obsessed with a recirculating pump. Go figure.





3) The four food groups are cookies, cake, ice cream, and marshmallows: I didn't ever want to make dessert an every-night trend, but somehow it's become an expectation with Luke. We're even slipping into the two-times-per-day territory; yesterday it was In-N-Out Burger (read In-N-Out Milkshake) for lunch; for dinner we ate our pizza at the little shop where the Italian ice is right next to the table, and Luke was completely driven to distraction until he got his "spu-mo-mi." Possibly we started the month of September with too many birthday celebrations for me; today at the supermarket Luke told me we needed some cake for Daddy's birthday. At any rate, once he finds out Halloween involves candy, we are in deep trouble.

Dave and I are stressed about the house not being sold, about the competition, and about any number of unpacking or home decorating issues, but thankfully Luke seems to be oblivious. He likes this house, and when I think about it, why shouldn't he? He doesn't have to travel any great distance to do anything, he can pop up and down the stairs to his heart's content, and he can swim in the pool as often as Dave is willing to let him. Yesterday I took a snooze during Luke's nap, and at some point he must have woken up, seen me asleep (a rarity) and wandered downstairs to find Dave working. He somehow convinced Dave that 3:30 pm was as good a time as any to go for a swim, so when I woke up, disoriented, I looked around only to find the two of them downstairs in the pool, playing with tools, laughing their heads off.

...in which I become Rodney Dangerfield

Luke is getting more and more conversational, all the better for him to express to me how truly bored with me he is. I mean, there was all of that gestating, birthing, nursing, comforting, etc. that I did - I'm sure I've gotten to be a real drag.

I wasn't going to take his Daddy-ism too personally until Monday when I picked him up from school and he was practically insulted. The first word out of his mouth was "Daddy?" and he insisted on going over to the door to survey whether or not Dave might be rounding the corner. Compare that with Tuesday, when Dave picked Luke up from school, and it was practically a national holiday. There was much running, and squealing, and hugging, and then all of the other kids got in on the act, and draped themselves all over Dave like a big happy Maypole. I mean, I swear, I wasn't going to take it personally, but "I don't want you, I want Daddy" pretty much says it all.

Oh, and then there's my cooking. Sunday he was unhappy because he wanted rice and beans for dinner and we didn't have any. Then I remembered that Luke and I had bought a special rice and beans mix at the supermarket. So I made that, and twenty minutes later when it was gloriously gooey and piping hot, he took one look at it and rejected it. "Maybe we can go to Wahoos tomorrow, where the rice and beans are better." I mean, come on!

From Dave's perspective, this week probably reads a lot differently. There was a solo daddy-Lukey trip to a baseball game, Dave finally taught Luke how to blow bubbles in the water, they bought a great giant plastic saw from the 99-cents store...But when you're not part of the club, you tend to see things a little differently.

Anyway, this week is one of those rare weeks when I'm working M-T-W so maybe by the end of the day today Luke will decide that a day with me might not be all that bad. Here's to a long weekend of being second fiddle...

"I don't want to go to the beach, I want to go to Home Depot"

...were actual words spoken by Luke on Friday. Which was followed up by an actual trip to Home Depot on Sunday, which was followed up by a few painting projects, which was followed up by me making the shocking discovery that Luke KNOWS HOW TO OPEN A CAN OF PAINT. Yes, with the actual paint can opener thingy. He's quite proficient at it. On the one hand this thrilled me a little bit (a painting prodigy!) but it scared me in equal measure. I can't just leave him alone in a room for a minute without fearing that some sort of unwanted project (painting? sawing? hammering?) might be launched.

(Side note: When he paints, for some unexplained reason, he insists on having us call him Smoke. I arrived home in the middle of the paint project to have him tell me, "My name is Smoke. This is Smoke's friend," with a nod over in Dave's direction.)

Again, he continues to be fascinated by all things Daddy. If you want to paint, hammer some stray nails, or if you just plain feel like spackling something, Daddy's the go-to guy. Last night Dave had some work to do on the computer so I took Luke in the hot tub with me. But Dave sat just inside the door, close enough that he could hear our conversation and chime in occasionally. That drove Luke to distraction: "What's Daddy doing?" "Daddy, will you come play in the pool?" etc.

I read somewhere that it's very typical of kids this age to develop some sort of passion bordering on obsession. Think birds, or presidents, or...well, those are two good examples. These toddlers want to read and learn and collect and do everything relating to their favorite pastime. I think they also want to mimic. When they see Bob the Builder jackhammering, they want to jackhammer. When they see the man in the Home Depot paint department mixing paint, they want to mix paint. So at least I know where it's coming from.

This afternoon I bought Luke an adorable red kid-sized chaise lounge (or should I say longue) to go out on the back patio. When I asked him if he liked it, he tossed his head back and threw his arms open wide: "Mommy, I LOVE it!!!" And who did he look most like when he made that unabashed expression of joy? Dave, of course.

Toddler shopping list

...as dictated by Luke to some imaginary family member on the phone:

"Hi. We need...milk, bread, um...chocolate chips, cookies, ice cream...electric guitars, jackhammers...um, Gatorade..."

(one furtive sweep around the room to make sure he didn't miss anything)

"OK? Terrific. Thanks. Bye!"

paterfamilias

We've been on a little island of sorts - surrounded by all manner of boxes, bags and suitcases, and entirely disconnected from the world without any web access. And it's OK. Well, it's sort of OK. Dave and Luke are fine and I'm the one having the sporadic freakouts about who knows what.

When it comes to any manner relating to the rental, the home selling, or the move, Dave has been entirely in charge. He's the one on the phone with the exterminator, the furniture rental guy, the plant rental guy, our realtor, the landscapers, the rental company, the moving company, the housecleaners, our financial advisor, and probably lots of other people I haven't even known about. My job is basically to surf Craigslist idly for outdoor furniture bargains. And yet he's the one who's calm, cool, and collected. And cheerily optimistic too. I happened to ask Suzi the other day if Dave had always been like that. "Pretty much," was the response.

Maybe that's why Luke is in a little bit of a Daddy mode right now. Up until now, he's more or less never turned down an opportunity to see me (to be fair, I had the added advantage of offering milk for the first two years). But lately, whenever catastrophe strikes or knees get bumped or chocolate milk gets spilled all over the patio, it's, "I want DADDY!!!!!!!!!" He must have clued in to the fact that Dave's the guy who never seems to get ruffled, always finds a way to get things done, and who can see only sunshine on the darkest day.

Luke chose this weekend to stop taking an afternoon nap and it made for some cranky afternoons, but whereas it sends me up a tree, Dave doesn't seem to mind in the least. He and Luke took off for the beach yesterday afternoon while I ran some errands. Then I strolled down the hill to the beach to meet them, and there they were, silhouetted in the late afternoon sun, jumping up and down with total joy as soon as they saw me.

pain(t)

"I'm ready to PAINT!!!!!!!!!!"
...were the first words we heard on Saturday at 6:30 am coming from Luke's room. We had promised him he could paint his new room and when we went over to the house on Friday night to do some prep work he was already marching around saying, "Let's open the paint! Let's paint right NOW!" We promised him we'd start first thing the next morning, and he must have tucked that away in some little reptilian part of his brain, because that morning he went from sound sleep to ready-to-paint in what must have been less than 10 seconds.

For lack of a better analogy, painting a room with a toddler is like having a bull in a china shop. He wants to open the paint, dip the brush in, and run across the room painting wildly. He doesn't care about dripping paint, tracking paint with his shoes, elbowing up against parts that have already been painted, or randomly dropping the brush handle-down into the tray full of paint. And when you are letting a toddler help you paint a room, it means that he might be fully committed to the project for about 15 minutes, and any minute he might drop the paintbrush mid-stroke and dart out of the room to go hammer something. So basically I was on full-time Luke-watch and I followed him around saying "NO!" for most of the time we were in the room, and then followed him around doing hammering and digging projects until he decided it was time to paint some more. When Luke finally keeled over from sheer exhaustion at naptime, Dave and I took up painting together and made remarkably improved progress. In the end, we have two freshly painted rooms and one little guy who still has a blue streak in his hair that even a vigorous scrubbing didn't remove.

I have pictures but the camera and the computer are in two different houses at the moment...a theme that seems to keep repeating itself every time we need something urgently. On a related note, I'm sure Luke doesn't understand the full concept of the move but he is surely excited about the new house. I think at this point it's mostly just confusing because we're staying at the old house, but there's no food there, and we keep having to run back to the new house to retrieve things like Luke's bath stuff that we moved and then needed again. Then each time we stop at the new house Luke doesn't want to leave.

Adding to the weirdness is the fact that Luke will be with me as we watch the movers move on Wednesday. Then his school is closed on Thursday, and after a six-day hiatus, he'll go back to school with a new teacher in the mornings. I'm hoping he can handle all of these changes and we'll try not to throw any more at him in the next few weeks.

New Luke-isms to end on:
"A double-drum pan-cacter" - A double-drum compacter, the new steamroller-type vehicle that we're seeing everywhere now that we read about it in Luke's new book
"Oh - What do we have here?" - Discovering a big box of tools that Dave left out

House of Independence

I got up at my usual early hour, and not hearing Luke, I went into the furniture-free living room to read a magazine. Not two minutes later I hear footsteps and the sound of the door opening, and there was Luke, rubbing his eyes as if he couldn't believe it himself. Luke was completely unable to open the doorknobs at our "old" house and so when he woke up he would always call out for me. But here he can open the door to his bedroom and the door to the hallway, so there's really nothing stopping him from, say, waking up and sauntering into the kitchen for some breakfast. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but we're going to have to rethink our whole child-proofing strategy.

It's true, though; something about this new house seems to make Luke more independent. Remember, this is a guy who generally wants to be carried even on a playground. At the new house there's carpet on the stairs, and you can see your goal from the bottom of the steps, so he's perfectly happy to clamber up himself. Compare that to the old house where he wouldn't even think of walking up or down on his own. He'll also walk down the walkway by himself, walk out into the backyard, and even walk right into the hot tub (though we had to make a rule banning that right away). All in all, I'm glad to see him feeling more confident and self-sufficient and I think it's a good trend to come.

Speaking of other good trends: We met our first neighbor today and had a longer conversation with her than we've had with all other neighbors combined. She even went back into her house to get Luke an orange, because he had seen her eating one and it gave him a sudden craving. I think it's going to be good here. As I told Dave, we only have one more (albeit gigantic) hurdle before we can fully settle in here, but once we do, I'm going to think he's brilliant.

family soup

So everyone knows what I'm going to write, eh? Let me know, because I haven't quite figured it out myself. We've been slurping from a giant, messy, family soup in the past seven days and it's been fun and loud and crazy and exhausting. Luke is slightly worse for wear, and I suppose I am too. I guess I should be depressed about everyone leaving, or about moving, but instead I am baby-sad and just feeling at loose ends. Julie and Helena just left for the airport with Dave while Luke naps, and I'm flopping around the house, not quite sure what to do next (though I'm sure there's a lot to do). I told Dave this morning that I could grow to love Morningside, and that I think I want to buy it at some point, and even Luke was sad about leaving Morningside this morning...but still I can't seem to imagine living anywhere but here in our big bright colorful house on Pacific.

Luke and Helena had their moments throughout the week but they seem to have grown on each other, like an old married couple. Of course Helena can't get in his face without him screaming bloody murder, but I'm not sure which one was happier to see the other when they woke up this morning. Sam, on the other hand, could be poking Luke's eye out with a stick and Luke would still think it was funny. And Lily...well, she's a crafty one. I think Luke tends to classify her as "baby" but I'm sure in the next few months he's going to see that she's one to watch out for. No question that it's been hard for Luke to share his turf and his toys this week; maybe at Christmas it'll be easier to manage.

I don't know how we all wound up so far away from each other geographically, but I dread the day when we just can't get it together to get together any more. I know it's hard to do the schlep but I think this time is so good for us, and I'm so glad Mom and Dad have taken the lead on making it possible.

I'm having some technical problems with posting the "family soup" picture, so I'll just let it go at that and maybe come up with something intelligent to say later.

pause-stop-rewind

Here I am back at the original reason for this blog - a family vacation at the beach, and me wanting to remember every detail. Dave and Luke and I came home tonight, and what I think I really want to do is not to move forward in time but to pause, stop, or possibly even rewind. Rewinding might mean that I'd have to go through my current sickness again - yechh. And I'd have to rewind some of the chaos and stress of getting settled at the house. But we'd get to go through that dinner again - the spaghetti and meatball dinner that dissolved into kid chaos that was so raucous and unbelievable that the only thing that could have topped it was Helena having an accident and Julie waving the underwear around at us asking if we saw any wet spots under the table. Which happened. And I just couldn't laugh hard enough. And then even better, Julie was the one who pointed out that the only possible caption to the Papa-reading-on-the-couch photo was "Look OUT!"


I'm sad to be home but I have to admit I know I need a very short break if I'm going to make it through the whole week. Just for kicks, here's my cool man Luke:

Moving

Getting more and more excited...it's only a matter of hours before the crew gets here! This may be my last blog for a few days because I will be too busy having fun (or at least eating a lot of food)!

Dave and Luke and I spent the morning focused not on our visitors but on our upcoming move. We took a tour (the first time for me and Luke) of our house-to-be. And you know what? It's a real "rental" - nothing fancy inside - but I can see how it might work. The woman who lives there now gave us the lowdown on the house, the neighborhood, the school...and she was so enthusiastic you'd think she was paid to talk it up. The neighborhood looks like it's really nice and being able to walk everywhere is a real plus. Anyway, we have to figure out how and when we're going to tell Luke about the move, and since he's so interested in building houses we told him it was a house that Daddy was building for us (technically not a lie if you look at it in the figurative sense). Luke seemed neutral on the house itself, but beyond excited about the "pool" (technically a hot tub). When we left he was adamant about wanting to go swimming and I said of course we could swim...but he was mad to learn that I was thinking about the public pool while he was thinking about the hot tub. "I want to swim at the house that Daddy built!" he cried. Give it time, I told him. You'll have lots of chances to swim there again and again.

Not much to say about the subsequent trip to the public pool, except for one crazy incident with a mom of twins who are about the same age as Luke. She was trying to manage them in the locker room, and one was running around without a diaper on and peeing indiscriminately. Potty training a boy is the worst, she told me. "It's the 'power of the sword,'" she said. "He'll just go anywhere. I just feel bad for the dogs at home - they're the ones who are taking the brunt of it."

I think about that and I say, "Hmmmm..."

We're not really potty training right now, but we are trying hard to get Luke to be at least marginally polite. For some reason, there is literally nothing that helps him remember to ask nicely for things. So we could spend days talking about the word please, and then in the middle of dinner he'll come out with, "MORE HOT DOGS! I WANT MORE HOT DOGS!" So last night when he was yelling for banana bread I coached him on a nicer way to say it. Then this morning when he woke up, I heard some odd rustling before his usual call of "Mom-MEEEE!" I went in the room to find that he had turned off the noise machine, opened up the shutters, and walked toward the door. When he saw me, he said, "Excuse me, Mommy, may I please have some banana bread?"

One last word that I've been meaning to mention, and that word is "poopdeck." It's in the first line of one of Luke's favorite Dan Zanes songs, and from the very first time he heard it, he decided that it was one of the greatest words he's ever heard. Unfortunately, he uses it all the time (sing to the tune of the alphabet song: "A, B, C, D, poopdeck G") and apparently he's spreading it around at school, to the point where one of the teachers asked us if we happen to frequent a local bar called the Poopdeck. How embarrassing; we're now the Poopdeck family. I guess things could be worse.

Doctor's office

We are revving up for the once-every-four-years visit by my entire family. Of course I am beyond excited, but it's been tempered by a few bouts of sickness...Luke had a slight cold, Dave got mowed down by an extreme version of it, and now I'm starting to sniffle. Ugh. That said, we're more or less set: The carne asada has been purchased, the special breads have been ordered, the gift bags assembled, the beach toys collected, the Costco visited, the front yard completely dismantled...wait, that's in the "we're not ready" column...well, anyway.

Yesterday Luke had to go to the doctor for a TB test. I told him he was going to get a "special stamp" - the four-prong thingie. But then the nurse sailed into the office holding out one of the longest needles I've ever seen. Apparently, or so she told me, those four-prong thingies were found to be unreliable, so they've switched to a needle. Great.

So I held Luke in my lap and held his arm out on the table, bracing myself for screaming and kicking. Now here's the amazing part: Not only did he not make a single peep, he watched the needle very solemnly throughout the whole procedure. I couldn't even look, and he didn't want to miss a thing. "That's very unusual for someone his age," remarked the nurse, who gave him a whole cup full of cookies for his bravery.

On the way out, I said, "Doctor, you did a great job. Is that because you're going to be a doctor?" and he said, "Yes, I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up!"

Can we build it? Yes, we can

How long has it been? It's been so long that my computer didn't even recognize me when I tried to get on to Blogger. Hmmm. I haven't been writing because I've been (pick one): busy, cranky, sulky, depressed, despondent, stuck under a large object, all of the above. On the first round of attempting to write this, I began with a long list of complaints about my life. But then I erased them because really, who else wants to hear that (besides Dave)?

So, how's Luke?

On Saturday I thought I'd indulge his current building fantasies with a trip to what is called, innocuously enough, "Adventure Playground." It's an outdoor park open only in the summers that offers a large mud pond with Huck Finn-style rafting, a rope bridge, a giant mud slide, and a large separate fort area where you can work with tools and "build" a fort. What it boils down to, at least for 2-year-olds, is it is the Most Dangerous Park in the World. When you walk in, they give each kid a large steel hammer, a two-foot saw, and three nails, and they're sent off to a large cluster of rickety, hand-hewn tree forts and large piles of splintery wood scraps. "You might want to keep an eye on him with the saw," advised the teenaged parks employee as we watched it flap around back and forth in Luke's tiny hands. You think? Of course Luke was entertained, and of course he had no interest in the mud/water attractions, but an hour after hauling wood scraps and pounding on them with the tools, he took me up on the opportunity to go and watch the band playing in another part of the park complex. (And between the two of us, I was the one who wound up with the huge, painful splinter. Go figure.)

Sunday morning we headed down to the beach to see the results of the sand castle competition. We thought Luke would be more interested in the structural aspects of the large pyramids that won the competition, but he was more intrigued by the large mermaid, and later, just wanted to build his own darn building.

In fact, I don't know why we even bother dragging him down to these contrived events when some of the best action is happening right in our own front yard. (Men with power tools, lots of digging and pounding) Lucky for Luke, he has the best "seat" in the house, standing on a chair in the playroom and peering out the window.



Speaking of building, whenever I ask Luke what he dreamt about, he always says, "Diggers." The other night I told him I had a dream about one of his favorite bluegrass duos, Dave Rawlings and Gillian Welch. He sighed and said, "Mommy, you don't dream about Dave Rawlings. You dream about diggers."

Final Luke observation [after burping]: "Steam came out of my mouth."

Occupational hazard

As I stepped into the shower this morning, I was thinking how lucky I am that I have one of those kinds of kids who would rather curl up in a tiny space than run all over creation. Dave wasn't home this morning, and Luke woke up at the crack of dawn, so I had to keep him in the bathroom with me while I took my shower. That might seem like punishment to some kids but it is heaven for Luke. Usually when he's in our bathroom he likes to squeeze himself into the tiny space in the toiletry closet and pretend to be a diamond miner.
Brief background: We've been reading the book, "Would you like to fly a jet? Would you like to be a vet?" and discussing the merits of various occupations; Luke seems to have momentarily latched on to the idea of being a diamond miner. In the toiletry closet, it means he curls up with a hammer and dislodges the clear plastic shelf braces.
So anyway, I'm taking my shower, perhaps even composing a happy little blog in my head about my cozy curling-up guy, when Luke appears at the door, sans diaper. "I took my diaper off," he announces. "Why did you take your diaper off?" I ask. "It's on the floor, over there," he says. "Not where - why?!" At this point my happy little shower reverie is lost as I start imagining the worst consequences. "What did you do with the diamonds? Did you put one in your bottom?" "Hmmm. Yes!" he says, which turns out not to be true, but it causes me to check him anyway and perhaps gives him some good ideas for the future.
Later we went to the brand-new indoor playground near our house and Luke sought out the tall tower that warned ominously, "Not recommended for children under 3." The main attraction to it was that no one else was up there, and once you climb up to the top there's a fully enclosed, construction-site-like space looking out over the rest of the playground. When we got to the top, Luke started making grand, excited gestures: "We can build a big, big building...and some guitars and some drums..." Moments later a big kid, around four years old, made it up to the top, but he was as frightened by the remote outpost as Luke was thrilled. "I need to get down," the boy stammered, ashen-faced, and he even willingly held my hand as I helped him climb down, with Luke gloating in the background as he re-established full control. Then our buddy Clay clambered his way up but he had no interest in further developing the space; he wanted to make a beeline to the jumbo slide that came down from the top. Wheeeee!
But maybe there is a builder in our future, or at least a way to tie in one other unconnected anecdote: During free playtime at school yesterday, all the kids were scattering to various parts of the room. But before Luke left for his corner "workshop," he told Teacher Melissa, "I'll be working in the basement if you need me."

"I forgot!"

It's pretty unusual for Luke to fail to sit down at the table for a meal, so the other night when he resisted sitting down for dinner, I decided not to push it. I told him, "OK, then go play in the playroom while Daddy and I eat."

Dave and I proceeded to have a nice quiet adult conversation over dinner, while we listened to sounds coming from the playroom: drums...the guitar...flapping pages of a book...Then we heard Luke saying, "OH! OH!" and the sound of toddler feet running back into the dining room. "I forgot to eat dinner!" he declared, and then proceeded to sit down and polish off a pretty good meal.

My think about it and my say, "Hmm."

It's hot in the city, and there's no escape in sight. Yesterday I told Dave that I no longer believe the thing about how Southern California doesn't have seasons. This was just after he tried to lie down, saying, "I don't want any part of my body to be touching any other part of my body," or something to that effect, which was really funny at the time because it was just so insanely hot that it seemed to make sense. And no, we don't own a fan. Why would we?

So poor Luke has been grounded for the last few days with impetigo, which has manifested itself as a grisly-looking scab-like infection on his upper lip, and some unidentified rash on his chest and back, which I'm sure is not being helped by the heat. For the moment, it means no school, no friends, and no appearances in public kiddie places, at least in public kiddie places where we might run into people we know. He's home from school today with Suzi and Boom-Boom, and Dave and I are frantically trying to negotiate some sort of hand-off for tomorrow because it looks like the scab is here to stay for a while.

To amuse ourselves, Luke and I have moved on to a new form of entertainment, trying to set a record for most nights of attending free outdoor concerts in a row. It started when we attended a kiddie concert a few weeks ago and Luke was thoroughly annoyed at the kiddie-like nature of it (we have to stop the music to imitate animal sounds? and they want us to dance? puh-leez!). So we moved on to the adult variety, starting most recently with a 50s-style rockabilly band performing in a little bandshell in one of our neighboring towns. The Elvis wig, microphone twirling, and splits were a big hit. The next night we went for a more subdued lady playing acoustic guitar. Not so much of a hit compared with the visual stimulation of the night before. But then we reached a crescendo the next night with a swing band that played down at the beach. At some point the trombone player sort of latched on to Luke, and went so far as to perform a solo "Mary Had a Little Lamb" for him. And handed him an inflatable trumpet. And kept waving to him between songs. And later came down during "Jump, Jive, and Wail" to ask his mommy (me) to dance, in front of the crowd of 300+ people. (For the record, I wasn't all bad. I love swing-dancing; it's the men in our house who would never be moved from their chairs). Lest this is starting to sound creepy, it all ended with a massive pitch for us to buy their CD, which we got conned into doing, so all in all the band netted around $10 from us. But the larger point is that Luke had a blast and is now extremely wedded to his swing band CD.

Then last night we followed up with Latin jazz fusion, which Luke also liked, despite the heat, until he noticed something much more important: that there were sno-cone sales going on nearby. This created an automatic toddler meltdown, given that we didn't bring our wallets with us, and Dave reminded me that the last time Luke had a sno-cone, we endured two days of vomit (see October 2005 - I had to look back to remind myself too). Anyway, so we quickly replaced the concert with the playground nearby, and tonight we're going to give the concert scene a rest. Tuesday night, however, is another story.

ANOTHER thing I've been meaning to write about (it's been a week, which is way too long) is Luke's inflation of minor incidents to landmark milestones that need to be discussed for hours afterwards. Like after I spilled a full bottle of juice in the aquarium cafe, and the clean-up team had to come and do the whole mop and sign-on-the-floor deal. Seconds after it happened, Luke was ready to rehash, and the dialogue went as follows: What did mommy do? I spilled the juice. What did mommy say? I said, "Oh no!" What did Luke say? He said, "I want more juice!" What did the lady say? She said, "I'll clean it up." What did the lady do? She got a mop to clean it up. [Pause for reflection.] Then: What did mommy do? etc.

Then later at the farmers' market we saw a man dressed in a giant bulldog costume advertising something or other. Even though he waved at us, Luke was scared of him and announced, "I don't like that dog/bear!" But as soon as he passed by and was out of sight, the questions began again: Where did the dog/bear go? What was he doing? What did Luke say? What did mommy say?

That night when Dave came home of course we had to tell him everything about our day, including the adventures at the aquarium. "Mommy, what did you do with the juice?" prompted Luke. "Oh, yeah, I spilled a whole bottle of juice in the aquarium cafe," I told Dave. Luke nodded in agreement. "Juice went everywhere!" he said, gesturing wildly.

After we told the story over and over, I thought that these things had finally been laid to rest. Then after Dave put Luke to bed, I asked him if Luke had given thanks for anything in particular while they were saying night time prayers. Well, yes, said Dave. He gave thanks for the scary dog/bear. Oh, and he gave thanks for mommy spilling the juice.

I don't like soup

Yesterday I was holding Luke in the ocean, sun blazing, waves crashing around us, and he turned to me and said, "Reduce, reuse, recycle."
What?
I guess any self-respecting parent of a preschool kid could have told you that came from Bob the Builder, who is currently pursuing an eco-development project in Sunflower Valley. But still. What odd little brain cell decided that that particular phrase was worth remembering and digging back up at a time like that?
I continue to be amazed at how the toddler brain works (or at least the one brain that I'm most familiar with). He has an uncanny memory for details about people and places and things that were said, and I'm sure I'm not even understanding half the stuff he brings up.
Like when we drove by Rocky Cola Cafe the other day, and he asked me the name of that restaurant. I told him the name, and then he declared, "I don't like soup!" I was momentarily confused, and then I realized that the last time we were there, let's say six months ago or so, Luke had sort of a cold and we got a kiddie portion of chicken soup that we were trying to coax him to eat. I started to laugh, and Luke chimed in, and he decided that he must have coined a great joke. When Beatriz and Felipe came over the next morning, he announced, "I don't like soup!" If he were a little more vaudevillian you would have heard a rimshot and seen him tip his hat, waiting for the laugh track to kick in. Naturally they were mystified.
But Kris, our realtor (or should I say Realtor? No, I shouldn't), was most impressed when we ran into her at the supermarket the other day and Luke asked, "Where's your dog?" He's only met Kris one other time in recent memory, and we only talked about the fact that she had a dog - he never actually met the dog. So we all smacked our foreheads in sheer amazement that he remembered that little factoid about her.
He even remembers things that I have clearly forgotten. Like when we were at the beach, he was listing things that were probably in the water, "...like jellyfish, and rays, and I'm drinking apple juice, and looking at a fish that looks like a street sweeper..." At this point I say, "What on earth are you talking about?" and Dave reminds me that when we went to the aquarium there was a big flat ray-like fish with hundreds of tentacle thingies on the bottom and as it scooted around the tank it looked like a street sweeper. And Luke was drinking apple juice at the time. Now I get it. As I said, I'm sure that for every one of these I understand, there are ten more that I'm missing.
How lucky I am, then, that just for the moment, he is easily distracted enough that his short-term memory is almost non-existent. Like this morning when he was playing with the gardener's measuring wheel. And I wanted him to put it down. But I decided not to fight it. And sooner or later it was on the floor, and I managed to move it out of sight inconspicuously, because the measuring wheel was SO five toys ago.
Or - maybe this doesn't have to do with memory, just with gullibility, but the other day we went to the Mexican restaurant next to Ben and Jerry's and we managed to convince him that we couldn't get ice cream because it was lunchtime and Ben and Jerry's was only open after dinner for dessert. Never mind that the doors were wide open as we drove by. We probably only have a few more weeks or months left for that particular brand of parental white lie to work, so we'd better enjoy it while we can.

The end of books

If you had seen us walking into the Cuban restaurant tonight, you might have been amused to see Luke with a cookbook tucked under his arm - Better Homes & Gardens Dessert Cookbook, circa 1960, his new favorite read.

It seems that just plain old books are passe right now. What Luke really wants to read are catalog-type listings of his favorite things. So if he wants to read, he'll head over to the bookshelf, pick out his three favorite dessert cookbooks, and bring them over to curl up with them on my lap. Then we'll go through page after page looking at cookies, cakes, pies, brownies, frosting techniques...you get the idea.

Sometimes he'll pick up Dave's do-it-yourself building handbooks, like the "Build Your Own Deck" book, which is a current favorite. Luke will keep it next to him throughout breakfast, carefully examining the two-man drill, the circular saw, and the chalk line.

But the real end to books came from a music company that specializes in rare and unusual instruments. When we bought the drum set (just a standard-issue kiddie drum set) they were kind enough to include their 200-plus-page catalog. This has become Luke's ultimate fascination. Each day we page through it, solemnly discussing bouzoukis, lutes, and the difference between the hurdy-gurdy and the bass gurdy.

All of this behavior might seem alarming to any "normal" parent. But the other day when we were reading the music catalog and Luke pointed out the gamelan, a little light bulb went on over my head. Of course! He's the absolute reincarnation of my dad! He is fascinated with all things mechanical, musical, and obscure. Throw in a little dessert, and you've made his day. How lucky we are to have one of him in our house.

A little "off"

The last 10 days have been a continuous stretch of parties, family time, late nights, bouncy houses, hot dogs, cookies, ice cream, cake, and marshmallows. And some sadness. And some meltdowns. After all that and more, we're just a little bit off this week.

Case in point: Luke has had a heckuva time taking naps - He'll fall asleep in the car if we're driving between 11 am and 12; then we'll take him home and he'll wake up on the way to bed and be ready to conquer the world. Then we'll spend the next two hours trying to convince him that nap time is imminent; then he'll fall asleep around 2:30 and sleep until 5, thus delaying the nighttime bedtime; but then in the morning he'll wake up bright and early and ultimately sleep-deprived and likely to fall asleep in the car again somewhere between 11 am and 12. Got that? It's been a little frustrating.

Or take our Monday night meltdown - Dave went to a Dodger game with Uncle Tony so Luke and I stayed home and had Special Mommy-Lukey Night. We had a nice dinner and then went out to Ben & Jerry's for ice cream. I sat there watching him happily dribbling away on his chocolate ice cream cone and thinking, "Does it get any better than this?" In fact, it didn't. As soon as his cone was gone, he saw some cookies in the display window that he decided he needed in addition to an ice cream cone. After five minutes of debate, I finally had to drag a screaming toddler out of the store ("I WANNA COOOOOOOOO-KIE!!!!!") and we had to sit in the car for another good 10 minutes before he could calm down enough to get in the car seat.

Does this sound like I'm complaining? I guess I'm really not. After yet another nap battle yesterday, I told Dave I feel like we're seeing little summer storms. They drift away almost as quickly as they crop up, and the little angel-boy returns. When Dave finally got Luke calmed down after one of these, they were talking, and Dave said, "You were a little mad, weren't you?" and Luke said, "No, I was big, big, BIG mad!"

So after all that, we wound up having a great Fourth. I mean, how can you not have a good time with Dave and Stu sumo wrestling in giant fat suits?

The next chapter

I have found a fragile peace here in the desert heat. At nighttime it is more than 100 degrees and yet Dave and I come out here to sit, talk, find comfort in the quiet stillness. We are on a large, leafy estate, surrounded by palm trees and lush bougainvillea. There are just a few lights in the pool that reflect upward and make the greenery look like it is shimmering. The moon is sitting just above the mountain to the west of us and there are stars in every direction. It's hot but there's no humidity so the heat is healing, not oppressive. We've been coming out here after Luke goes to sleep, just to look out into the sky and talk about what's ahead - for the next hour, week, thirty years. Last night we stopped our whispering when we heard a rustling in the trees. A large white owl swooped overhead, then came to rest on a tree nearby.

There's nothing more to say about me other than that I feel scooped out and raw, and I don't know what's going to come next. I'm sad and confused, and extremely disappointed to be barred from the pool (the worst is having to listen to Luke saying, "Mommy, I want to swim with you!") But the truth is, while I thought that being out in the desert might be a bad idea, in some ways it's been a relief. We are in a beautiful fantasy home and Luke has been thrilled beyond belief with the pool and all of the activities. The fact that it topped 112 degrees today and I couldn't swim was completely beside the point. I decided that I've been looking forward to this trip for so long that I wanted to give myself permission to enjoy it - and I have.

We capped off our day today with a dinner out at a Japanese steakhouse - the kind where they do the cooking at your table. We had given Luke a clue about what was ahead: Just before he went down for his nap, we told him that we were going to eat at a table where we could watch a man chopping the food and flipping it. He said, "My so excited I want to jump out of bed!" At dinner, when the chef chopped the shrimp and tossed a piece into Tony's mouth, it completely rocked Luke's world. For the last several hours he's been carefully re-enacting the scenario and quizzing us about the details.

It's been a year since I started writing this blog and it's odd to look back and remember that one year ago, we decided that we were ready to start trying for #2. Looks like we didn't get too far in a year's time. But that's just one yardstick to measure by; we've had a year's worth of total delight with Luke and plenty of blog-worthy material. Mid-year, in fact, I had decided that if there were a purpose to this blog, it would be to keep a journal or a record for Luke. But of course it's been about me and my own motivations as well. I guess if I'm writing this at all, even if it's for Luke, I need to be honest about what's going on with me and make that a part of it. So that's why, even though it doesn't really mesh that well with all of the funny stories and joyous memories I have from this trip, I have to bring up this sad chapter and think about how I want to start the next one.

As I sit outside in the dark heat, with the pool lights glowing in the background, it is completely silent except for the hot breezes that are blowing in the trees, around my face, and on my feet. It seems like what I've written has made sense, but I'm not sure how well it will hold up in the light of day. No matter; I'm going to go and find Dave now, so we can stay cocooned in this little dream for just a while longer.

surprising changes

Lots to catch up on...If I were really organized, there'd be a picture for each update. But what can you do.

Luke has some new things that are either cracking me up or disturbing me - I haven't quite decided. For one thing, he has designated one little stuffed dog as his "baby" that he insists on wearing stuffed down the front of his shirt. And he walks around telling us that the "baby" wants to eat beef. Or money milk. Hmmmm...

He also informed us that he needs a slide guitar. (A little too much time spent watching bluegrass, no doubt). But still, hmmmmm...

Three times a week or so he asks where his drum set went. "We had to return it to the store because it was broken," I tell him. "Who broke it?" is always his next question. Well, it was flimsy, and Luke broke various parts through wear and tear, but there was one part that Eitan broke. "Eitan broke it!" is always how the conversation ends. I was starting to get worried because the other day when they saw each other at story hour, the first thing Luke said to Eitan was, "You broke my drum set!"

So finally we got him a new, hopefully sturdier drum set. He was all excited, sat on the stool, drum sticks poised expectantly in the air, and before he played a single note, he stopped to ask, "Who broke my other drum set?"

And then there was the party. Hooray for the baseball party. I have tons of good pics but only one available at my fingertips at the moment right here:



Lots of baseball-themed fun - Baseball, baseball cupcakes, pennant artwork, hot dogs, etc. Luke and Hatcher were perfectly matched in their 2.5 shirts. Luke was clingy for the first half-hour, but three hours into the party he was running around like a crazy-happy person, singing the alphabet song at the top of his lungs.

We got home, exhausted, and decided to open just one present (presents given to us against our "no-gifts-please" instructions, by the way). The present was from Eitan and the beauty of it was that it could be used right away - a set of floating drums for the bathtub. Luke loves it, and we're just grateful we don't live in an apartment building on account of the noise. Let's hope that is the last chapter in the great "You Broke My Drum Set" wars of 2006.

The sad little postscript is that the little raspberry and I are still fighting the good fight, but it is not looking good at the moment. I'll spare this blog from the roller coaster but suffice to say we are hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

What are you yaffing at?

What are you yaffing at? Luke's now in a fabulous stage where everything is just plain funny. Making up nonsense rhymes with songs he already knows is funny. The dog that says "foo" in the comics is funny. Other Luke, who calls all farm animals a helicopter, is funny. Uncle Joe, who says "Pee-yew" is funny. "Poopdeck" is funny. "Did you ever see Nut/Scratching his butt" (sung to the tune of "Down by the Bay") is funny (and something tells me I'm going to regret making up that one).

Point is, he seems to have a whole new joy and appreciation for things, whether it be bouncing a ball off his head, or playing guitar naked after a bath. I'm going to attribute it at least in part to school, where the kids crack each other up all day long.

Yes, we're still dealing with a sudden pig-headedness that manifests itself as a refusal to eat all previously loved foods. But he can be tricked into changing his mind. Last night, Dave made hamburgers rolled into little cigar shapes and Luke happily glommed down two "hot dogs." Oh, and he'll occasionally go back to rice and beans, as long as he wants to and not because you tell him to.

One of the things that Luke is most joyful about these days is the fact that he has a party coming up in only five days (at last count). He can barely contain himself with glee when he talks about eating cupcakes, and playing baseball, and eating more cupcakes. If this is how it's gonna be, I'm signing up for more.

shaken, not stirred

We are in the midst of celebrating Father's Day, which began with Luke's outstanding new recipe for sesame seed pancakes and culminated in a loud hot morning on the beach at the drum circle. Now we're all collecting our respective thoughts by sleeping (Luke), grocery shopping (Dave) and lazing around on the computer (me). What a difference three days can make. I was sad then and I'm happy now, but everything is just a little more guarded, even more so than before. There was no point of elation for me when we got the good news, just total and utter shock because I had believed for more than a week that the situation was hopeless. I guess one possible reaction would have been cheering from the rooftops. But I can't take any more of the roller coaster. For the moment, I have a different feeling than I've had before - I've lost the worry about how we would manage with another kid, and I've gained kind of a warm fuzzy googly feeling when I think about Luke plus another Luke-ette running around.

I'm still not counting any chickens. Still, when you think about it, there are currently four hearts beating in this house. We're going to do whatever we can to keep it that way.

words

The other night when the family was all here eating dinner, Luke excused himself and went off to play by himself. I guess he wanted to make sure he wasn't forgotten because he decided that the best way to amuse himself would be to sing the alphabet song, repeatedly, at the top of his lungs. It was funny, but more importantly , it was hard to ignore.

Seems like we don't know exactly what's going to be coming out of his mouth these days. Like this morning when he told me that he was off to the store to buy "beer and juice and bubble water." Anyone unsure which beverage-oriented parent he is taking after? When Dave complained the other night about Luke needing a separate utensil for each food item, Dave's parents wondered aloud where *that* particular trait could have come from. "It's all in the genes," said Bobbie. And then without missing a beat, Luke agreed, "It's all in the genes!"

For all of his conversation and mimicry, I'm still totally amused by the words he can't quite get right, especially those that involve "r" "l" and/or "g." But if I generalize, and say he still can't say the "g," I remember that he's been asking for "go-gos" (goldfish) since practically day one. Or sometimes I think that he has trouble with the "v" sound, but in reality he just uses it in the wrong way for violin: "bah-vah-in"

A quick guide for those still confused:

tah-TAH = guitar
a-yeh-tah-tah-tah = electric guitar (very important distinction, by the way)
dah-dah = gorilla
soo-doo = cereal
nuh-donna = iguana
beh-uh-ee = Miss Beverly
wee-budduh = wheelbarrow
teem-wudduh = steamroller

We went to a fun graduation party yesterday for Luke and all of his pals as they move on from Mommy and Me into various big-kid activities like preschool. Luke was the only kid who refused to sit for the class picture so I have some cute pics of the class sans Luke, maybe for later posting.

I'm not denying that I'm sad right now. In fact, I'm fumbling my way through a fog of sad. But what I have right now to get me through is an otherwise happy life, filled with the soundtrack of the alphabet song and the strummings of an a-yeh-tah-tah-tah.

Whatever happened to...?

Lots going on right now with everyone but let's just focus on Luke for a moment. Dave tried to talk to him in Spanish the other day and Luke cut in without a moment's hesitation. "Stop, Daddy. I don't like Spanish." Sunday we took him to the Cuban restaurant and he announced that he would eat rice but not beans. Whah? Today I took him to the farmers' market and went through a comical routine of buying just about every lunch option for him (pupusas? guacamole? tamales?) until he finally accepted a hot dog. Lest it start to sound like he's just rejecting Hispanic culture, he's also turned up his nose at such previous favorites as chicken, red peppers, noodles, and mushrooms. My heart used to swell with pride when he would beg for vegetables. I think now we're going to have to hope that bland starch items, fruit, and nitrate- (or is it nitrite-, I never can tell) loaded meat products will fulfill his nutritional needs. But I mean, how predictably toddlerish can you get?

What's Seattle do-ning?

Just a few pics to hold us until I can get my mind and act together...

Deep in girl world

There's much too much going on to spend lots of time on the computer, but I can't go a *week* without blogging, can I? We are in Seattle, deeply entrenched in girl world. There are dolls and princess hats and dress-ups and things that Luke just can't really get his mind around (I had to tell Antonia, "He doesn't really like changing clothes once he's put something on for the day.") But in the end they have a lot more in common that you'd think. After all, who wouldn't want to run around a park like a crazy person, picking up sticks and pinecones? Or chase after the ice-cream truck? Or look at a massive room-sized aquarium full of fish?

Luke had some confusion at first, thinking that Aunt Julie was "Ant-onia" and Antonia was "sister" (as Helena calls her). But they've worked it out amongst themselves. Luke and Antonia were fast friends from the beginning, and Helena and Luke are now more likely to hug than slug.

Antonia is extremely sad to learn that we're leaving tomorrow already, and Helena's persistent comment is a plaintive "Why?"

Pictures to come soon...

All creatures great and small

So the great Fratello Four-Day Weekend is still in full swing and we've done so much I can barely even remember the beginning. A haircut for Luke...a day in Topanga...a day at the aquarium...and we still haven't made it to the beach yet. That'll be tomorrow. For now, we're basically trying to keep things interesting while we manage this new-found habit of throwing a tantrum over the smallest thing (Where's my balloon? I want a cupcake! I don't want to get dressed! etc.). It's balanced out by an even richer sense of humor, especially while reading the food book (tell him there's a picture of spapple and aghetti instead of apple and spaghetti and he's completely gone). Things tend to balance out on the positive side, at least for now. Now it's time for some much-needed rest.

who puts you to school

The first night after I wrote the sleep blog, Dave helped Luke with the whole jamas-on-and-teethbrushing routine, but then Luke came looking for me, grabbed my hand, and led me into his room. When we got there, Dave was sitting at the foot of the bed, in the book-reading "put you to bed" spot.

"Oh, NO!" said Luke. "Who's sitting there?"

Poor Dave. He just does not get enough credit. Let's give him a round of applause for elevating the school drop-off to a fine art. As in, maybe I can take Luke to school without a tear now, but no one does it like Dave does. I'm going to take the liberty here of sharing his daily morning update from today:

Well, when Postman Pat was over, Luke jumped out of my lap, said, "T'mon, Daddy, go to school!" And I said let's look at the lunchbag, and he said, "Maybe some blueberries!" And there were, and he was pleased, then said, "Get the Cold One." So we did, and we went to the door and he said, "Let's see Miss Beverly." Of course we did that too.

I gathered an all-boy crowd again for book-reading, 4 of them, until Roxanna came over and boldly handed me a book about manners featuring a monkey. I deferred to her and read that after we finished book one. Meanwhile, Kadin left during the monkey book to bring back a gigantic book (seriously, like 3 ft by 3 ft) about a mouse that eats a strawberry while fearful that a big bear is going to come get the strawberry. Actually it was cooler than that sounds maybe.

While I was reading the strawberry book (which Kadin called "the scary, scary book" and "monster book" because of the looming bear - who never actually appears), Luke and Roxanna took over naming most things on the pages. Luke asked me what the words said frequently.

When we finished that book Luke rolled around in my lap, put his face up to mine and said, "Let's see Miss Beverly." I said "great" and we went over there. He said he wanted Papa-Damma, but he brightened when she told him that today they're going to do something messy with shaving cream outside. But first they're going to pull out instruments. OK! he said. And off I went.

No question, he's the most famous guy at school. And he writes me a complete update every day. How can you not love a dad like that?