Take my stuff, please

Our garage sale unfolds:
7:15 am: Luke wanders downstairs in his pajamas, finding us setting up outside and meeting the first customers (garage sale starts at 8 am)
7:16 am: "Luke! Put down the weedwhacker!" Luke: "I don't like garage sales."
7:20 am: In the kitchen, preparing breakfast: Luke: "Are we going to sell our refrigerator? Are we going to sell our food?"
7:45 am: The first big pile of towels sells. I bring out more towels and linens.
8:00 am: The sale is in full swing. People are looking for specific things we don't have: surfboads, skateboards, sporting or stereo equipment, antiques, books. Hmmm.
8:30 am: A group of people drive up in a truck and buy 90 percent of the furniture we are selling, rendering our garage sale basically over except for the junk. More people buy towels. Fleeting insecurity: Did we have enough stuff for a garage sale? Are we just total novices? Should we start putting out things we hadn't intended to sell? I bring out more towels.
9:00 am: Relief arrives in the form of Silvia and the boys. Luke takes them upstairs and I can hear him jamming on instruments and laughing hysterically with his "big brothers."
9:30 am: Silvia takes Luke and the boys out to IHOP, and buys the rest of the towels I put out. I go find some more.
10:00 am: It is so dead that Dave and I sit outside relaxing for a while, then start cleaning up the office and the basement.
10:30 am: Luke arrives back from breakfast, covered in syrup and dirt.
11:00 am: Luke greets our last customer: "Hi! Where's your money?"
11:15 am: We wrap up the last remaining items. Total revenue: $231, including five sets of towels, almost all of our furniture, most dishes, and zero clothing.
11:20 am: Whoops - we forgot to put out the wrought-iron patio chair and table set. As Luke would say, "Wah, waaaa." Picture-taking for Craigslist items commences.
12:00: Dave drops off all of the remaining items at Goodwill. We haven't changed the world, but at least we have a little more space.

Finally - feeling better

Am I allowed to say this - or will I superstitiously make things worse? I'm feeling better. Even good.

-- I'm a functioning member of our household once again
-- Today we will go from being, oh, about a million dollars in debt to having $$$ in the bank (no house, but at least we're not holding on to a depreciating asset)
-- Luke has been wearing underwear for about a week, and accidents notwithstanding, he seems to be doing alright
-- Luke seems to have stopped his middle-of-the-night wakeups as his cold gets better
-- Luke came out from his three-year doc appointment today with gold stars and all-around cheers for how smart and great he is. (Aw shucks.) He even volunteered to get a shot today, even though he only technically needs it sometime within the next year, with no protest and in fact extreme interest in examining the needle before and after
-- The director of Luke's school can't stop talking about how advanced and engaged he is (apparently he wanders into her office all the time for chats)
-- Dave is poised to make a move on a car that will finally make him happy (a 2001 zippy red Volvo wagon)
-- We have actual adult furniture in our house
-- We are ready for a garage sale on Saturday that will make a big dent in our remaining clutter
-- Dave and I have a long-awaited date night on Saturday to cap off a great week.

Smiles all around.

The Age of Nut

OK, it's clear, Luke needs a sibling, or at least someone else to talk to in our house. Dave and I are amused/alarmed by the fact that he is repeatedly asking us to help him talk to any number of inanimate objects in the house. Example: "Can the hamper talk? Hamper, what are you doing?" We felt we'd seen the worst of it when he wanted attention from the banana on the counter: "Hey, banana, watch me vacuum!"

Probably no one has received more of this kind of attention than Nut, Luke's small stuffed dog. Nut is Luke's constant companion while reading, sleeping, and throughout most meals. When I see Luke coming in to our room in the morning, I usually see Nut at the same time (unless like yesterday, he pops his head in, and says, "Wait, I forgot Nut!" and does a quick turnaround). Nut gets to try food, drink milk, and occasionally take medicine. He's often asked to use tools and play instruments. He even came along in a bag on Luke's trip to the music industry convention last week with Suzi and Bill.

Why Nut, as opposed to any other animal, or, say, the toaster? To be fair, Chairman Mao is a somewhat constant feline companion, and yesterday after he "hurt" himself he needed to be ministered to and now sports a Spongebob band-aid. And Otter has made his share of appearances at meals and booktime. But there's something about Nut and his soft floppy compliance that seems to make him both portable and ready for anything. If we lose him, we're sunk.

Speaking of favorite dogs, Luke loves the idea of "favorites" so he helped me answer the following questions about himself:

Favorite color: Red and pink and green ("Daddy, what's the difference between pink and red?")
Favorite ice cream: Chocolate
Favorite breakfast: Waffles and meat
Favorite lunch: Wahoo's
Favorite movie: Dumbo
Favorite tool: "Hammers, mallets, wrenches, screwdrivers...lots of tools"
Favorite music: "I like lots of music"
OK, favorite song: "I like lots of songs."
OK, favorite Raffi song: Baby Beluga
Favorite book: "I like lots of books" (OK, never mind)
Favorite restaurant: In N Out Burger
Favorite dog: Nut
Favorite cat: Chairman Mao
Favorite snack: Goldfish and Triscuits
Favorite dessert: Chocolate chip cookies
Favorite shirt: Cat shirt from Sam (Puma shirt)
Favorite pizza: Mushroom
Favorite room in our house: "Your bed, Mommy"

Up or down/In or out

Haven't blogged in a while, in part because I'm just not sure: Am I in a great mood, on top of the world? Or am I crushed under a huge rock of depression? Seems like every day it's a little different. Saturday I felt great; couldn't wait to get some stuff done around our long-neglected house; Sunday I realized just how badly I overdid it and my tiredness leaked out and brought everyone down. I had just about recovered on Sunday night, and curled up peacefully to sleep, when we were awakened a little before 1 am with a croupy Luke gasping for air. Two and a half hours and a watching of Dumbo later, Luke was peacefully at sleep, breathing somewhat easier with the humidifier humming, and I finally stumbled back into bed. Today I thought for sure he'd crash at naptime, but no such luck - he was still running around long after my body had decided it needed a break.

But enough about me - let's kick off the year with a list of what's in and out for 2007:

In:
Our long-forgotten furniture from Pacific, 90 percent of which we don't have room for.
Using the potty (see diapers, below).
Fuzzy pajamas (uncharacteristic cold snap in the air)
Carrot sticks, hamburgers with the bun, spinach omelets, red onions, and a world of previously ignored food
Dumbo
Renting
Cigars/Champagne (two things Luke has picked up on from the Dumbo video, and which he asks for all the time)
Altoids ("What's your favorite Altoid?") (thanks a lot, Dad)

Out:
Tommarp and the Bus Chair, two vestiges of our former furniture life
Any boxes we haven't opened for the last three moves
Diapers, at least part of the time for Luke. He spent the morning perfectly happy in underwear and has been waking up dry in the mornings!
Footless pajamas
Naptime
Owning
Regular blog entries

Hahahahaha. Just kidding about that last one. I'm sure there will be lots to say in the coming weeks as things get more and more interesting.

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.