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?