Like Father

Most of you know Dave as the kind of guy who always seems to stumble into free upgrades, complimentary bottles of wine, first-class tickets at coach prices, and that sort of thing. So it was entirely unsurprising that when Dave took Luke to an Angels game at the last minute last night, expecting to buy tickets at the ticket window, a boy and his dad came up to the two of them and offered them two tickets to sit in the Diamond Club section behind home plate (face value $98 apiece) for free because they weren't going to use them. Of course they had the time of their lives, eating hot dogs, laughing with the other kids and families, and working their way through cotton candy puffs the size of a small refrigerator.

Why do things like that happen to Dave? Is it his permanently sunny disposition? Is it because he puts himself in the psychological position of always being receptive to good things? Is it that when something happens to him, whether bad or good, he always finds a way to make something good out of it? Or a combination of all of the above? And will Luke, the chronic complainer in the house, ever pick up some of that good karma?

Speaking of which, it has been an adventure getting finicky Luke to eat any main-course lunch or dinner item besides hot dogs, pizza, Wahoo's rice and beans and teriyaki chicken, and the occcasional tamal (or tamale for those of us non-Spanish-speakers). Luke is so particular that he can even tell when I try to fake it. Last week I gave him leftover Wahoo's rice and beans, but we were a little low on beans, so I added some canned black beans. He poked through his meal suspiciously. "Some of these beans are not right, Mom."

Once I practically pleaded with Luke: "What if I went down to Wahoo's and talked to the chefs and they taught me exactly how to make their teriyaki chicken and then I made it at home? Would you eat it?"
"Ummm....no."

So it was a great surprise last week when Luke voluntarily tried a turkey sandwich (sliced pepper turkey from the deli) on olive bread and decided that it was his new favorite lunch. Several meals later, I ran out of that particular turkey, happened to go to a different store, and bought some more pepper turkey that was ever so slightly different (pepper scattered throughout the turkey rather than just on the top).
"Is this the same turkey?" Luke demanded suspiciously.
"Yes," I told him firmly.
"You are rapidly losing your credibility," admonished Dave.
Nevertheless, Luke declared the turkey "good" and finished his sandwich.
Today we went back to the original store and Dave reminded me that we needed more turkey. "How far down are we on the other stuff?" I asked.
"I'm not sure," admitted Dave sheepishly. Turns out he never even touched the second batch of turkey because it looked different. "I'm an adult - I get to make my own choices," he said defensively. At least we know where Luke gets it.

Brief interlude with some thoughts from Luke:

On car racing: "I know I'm not supposed to say this, but I really like it when they crash."

On dumping sand on Zach's head: "I know I'm not supposed to do it, but my brain tells me to do it anyway."

Zach is moving ahead, literally, two steps forward, one step back. He has a few little words - "bottle," "kick," etc. - and he is really, truly working on walking (it's a long drawn-out process). He can stand without holding on to anything and he can even clap or hold a book or ball at the same time. And his mechanical mind is clearly at work. Yesterday he was walking the walker to the edge of the patio. I dashed off to catch him before he reached the steps, but he stopped himself right at the edge. He then sat down, pushed the walker down the two steps, carefully climbed down the steps, then righted himself and the walker and resumed walking on the grass. Whoa.

Sleep, however, is a disaster. Luke was complaining the other morning that he didn't want a baby anymore because he didn't want to be awakened in the middle of the night. I have to say he wasn't alone. "You'd better shape up," I confided to Zach the other morning. "You're the least popular person in the house right now."

But today Luke and Zach are best of friends, and I suppose just as infant-hood is fleeting, so will be our sleeplessness. Tomorrow he might finally walk, and tomorrow night we might all sleep in peace. So we hope.