Growing Up Daddy

The Terrible Twos Already?

2006-11-26T21:22:00.000-05:00

As I've been trying to get back into the swing of attempting to post regularly (apparently hopeless), I realized that I hadn't posted any Ethan pics since my very first post back in June, and that picture was from the prior October when he was only 4 months old! I've obviously been completely derelict in my duty as a doting father.

In an attempt to rectify the situation, here are three more pictures of the little tyke. They are, respectively, from March, 2006 (9 months old), May, 2006 (11 months old), and from September, 2006 (15 months old; just two days before I was rushed to the hospital).

If you'll recall, a while back I had begun attempting to teach Ethan the word "No." It had, of course, been a spectacular failure, but I had persevered. Over the last few months, he has definitely learned the meaning of the word. He still isn't really obeying it, but it's progress of a sort. That recently come crashing down as we apparently entered the universally-feared Terrible Twos six months early.

Just like any other toddler, Ethan has an insatiable curiosity. This is, of course, a good thing until he begins exploring things that are dangerous. For example, one day a few weeks ago he suddenly became enamored of an electrical outlet which had not previously been a problem. Granted, the outlet was completely outfitted with safety plugs but they were the cheapie plastic kind that you just plug into the socket and Ethan has begun displaying a remarkable ability to get into just about anything. With something this dangerous, I didn't want to take any chances. In my most authoritative Stern Daddy voice I said "Ethan, No!" Knowing his name, he immediately turned around but as he saw nothing interesting he went back to work. I tried again. "Ethan, come to Daddy!" This time, I didn't even get the backwards glance. It was clearly time to resort to brute force. I walked over, picked him up, and deposited him about four feet away while again saying "Ethan, No!" No go; he made a beeline back to the outlet. This time when I picked him up and moved him, I turned him around in addition to again telling him "No!" so that he was no longer facing the outlet. This time, he finally stared at me for a minute. Then he promptly turned around, walked back to the outlet and stopped about a foot in front of it. He looked back at me again and then proceeded to stick out his index finger until it was about half an inch away from the outlet. He then left it there while again looking back at me, this time with a huge grin. He didn't have to say or do anything else. The words "So.....now what are you gonna do?" were already clear as day. All I could do was say "Ethan, No!" yet again, go and pick him up, and move him to another room all while attempting (unsuccessfully, I'm sure) to suppress the grin that I'm positive was appearing on my own face.

The other "incident" occurred several days later. One of the few things in my in-laws' house that Ethan is not allowed to play with is the dishwasher. When it's open, it has fun things like knives in it and, when it's working, it has a disturbing tendency to shoot out fairly hot steam towards the floor during the drying cycle. Ethan is well aware that he's not permitted near it. Ethan waited until he thought I was safely preoccupied trying to eat dinner when he walked over and began playing with the controls. We then proceeded to go through a song and dance that was eerily similar to the one outlined above. This time, I even tried moving him out of the room. I swear, this back and forth lasted for over fifteen minutes! All the while, of course, I'm getting more and more frustrated while trying desperately not to let him know that he's getting to me (not to mention the fact that my food was long since ice-cold). I'm sorry to say that, finally, I'd pretty much had it. "Ethan...do NOT touch that! Don't touch it!!" He clearly heard something different in my voice as he immediately turned around and gave me that stare again. He then got that exact same grin, walked two feet to his left, reached out his finger to touch a cabinet door and very clearly said "Touch it." He walked on to the refrigerator and touched that repeatedly. "Touch it. " Touch it" He then proceeded to walk around the entire room touching every single thing he could find, other than the dishwasher, saying "touch it" each and every time. It figures that he had chosen this particular moment to be the first time he had ever put two words together.

And my wife wants a second one.

Turkey Day

2006-11-23T22:49:00.000-05:00

Well, Thanksgiving was nothing overly exciting; the usual mix of too much food and too many relatives. It was, however, particularly nice to see that our niece - who just started college this year - has turned into the thoughtful and mature woman that we had expected. Not overly surprising as she was always "three going on thirty," but nice to see nonetheless. We also got the exciting news that she is now planning to transfer to an even more prestigious university than the one she already attends, such as Brown or Tufts. Given that she's on one of the athletic teams and still managed to pull in mid-term grades in the mid to upper 90's in a pre-med curriculum, we're guessing that she won't have many problems.

On to Ethan (why should this post be any different?). I am sad to say that he has now reached that stage where I am no longer merely someone to cuddle, laugh with, or come to when he's upset or hungry. I have been transformed into someone who can help get him places. Granted, I became used to this job as soon as he arrived, but that was because he wasn't mobile and I had no intention of letting him crawl across the cement from the slide to the swing in the playground. I'm also still used to doing it around the stairs and when getting into cars, booster seats, etc. But that's because I want to do it; it's not like he thinks he needs any help getting up the stairs, and he certainly has no intention of ever climbing into a car seat voluntarily. Somehow, I didn't really expect the "Daddy as ride" syndrome to kick in until (at least) he began doing things like Pop Warner. Naive, I know. In any event, it's happened.

Ethan recently learned the joy of turning on and off a light switch. Earlier in the day on Thanksgiving, we had been holding him up to a light switch so he could make it go on and off while he smiled (and while the grownups all cheered him on, of course). After dinner, he decided that he wanted to do it again. He made a beeline for the light switch and reached up as far as he could, trying to reach it. Apparently, he actually thought he might make it. Granted, he's tall for his age, but still no go. Because he's seventeen months old, and it was getting perilously close to bedtime, he quickly became frustrated. He looked around and....Lo and Behold, there was a Daddy! I can climb up him! Which is, of course, perfectly good toddler reasoning. He promptly walked over to me, looked up with a grin he rightly assumed was irresistible, and reached up with both hands in the universal toddler code for "Pick me up!" What's a Daddy to do? And so, I was transformed into an Ethan-chair for as long as he was interested in watching the light magically go on and off. (Or at least until my arms got tired).

I better start getting used to it.

Goin' to Carolina....

2006-11-10T21:58:00.000-05:00

It's definitely been one heck of a month so far. Only one third finished and our entire lives have been turned upside down. Things can pretty much be summed up for me by the chorus from James Taylor's "Carolina In My Mind":

In my mind I'm goin' to Carolina
Can't you see the sunshine
Can't you just feel the moonshine
Ain't it just like a friend of mine
To hit me from behind
Yes I'm goin' to Carolina in my mind

For some time now, my wife and I had been kicking around the idea of moving to Atlanta. While I wasn't overly enamored with the idea (nothing against Atlanta, I just didn't really feel like tidying up the house I had spent eight perfectly good years turning into a pack rat's dream, and moving all of it a thousand miles away), it had been slowly but surely become where we were headed. My wife wanted the warmer weather, we both wanted the cheaper real-estate costs and lower property taxes, etc. My wife works for a large, financial corporation which has an office in Atlanta, and she was told that she could simply transfer there. We had spent significant amounts of time researching on the net, talking to people (apparently they still come in the original "living" variety as well, and they're surprisingly good at answering questions), and had even gone so far as to contact a real-estate agent in Atlanta and begun reviewing properties. Alas, this was not to be.

Last week, without warning, my wife was informed by the company she works for that they were closing her entire facility as of June 30, 2007 (they have two other facilities doing similar work elsewhere in the country). Approximately half of the employees were simply summarily laid off, while the rest were given a choice: you can either receive a severance package (based on salary and tenure with the company), or you can move to one of their other offices. My wife was one of the lucky ones who were invited to stay on. Unfortunately, they did not mean to any one of their other offices; they meant to a specific office, and it was not in Atlanta. It's in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. And, "Oh! By the way....you need to make a decision by the end of the month."

So, sometime in the next eight months me and my entire family will be uprooted and moved across the country entirely at the whims of Corporate America. Please don't get me wrong...I have yet to hear even a single negative thing about the Winston-Salem area (or about NC for that matter); we simply would have preferred to have had something approaching a choice in the matter. We can't possibly afford to take the severance package and hope that my wife is lucky enough to find a new job before the cash runs out.

Ah, well. At least Winston-Salem has what is typically described as a "world-class" medical facility (Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center). Considering how superb my luck has been regarding my health this year, this is probably a very good thing.

In a Single Bound

2006-11-01T21:40:00.000-05:00

We've really got to stop reading those parenting books that tell you "what to expect" from your child at different ages. I remember back when he was ten months old and he was trying to climb up onto the sofa, but couldn't quite make it. He'd try for a couple of minutes and then get very frustrated. It was very clear how he felt; he had annoyance written all over his cute little face. Whenever I mentioned it to my wife she kept telling that he couldn't be frustrated, that "all the books" said he was too young. Then he tried his climbing act in front of her one night. When he finally gave up trying, he slid to the floor, screwed up his face, and picked up one of his smaller toys and threw it. Apparently he was frustrated after all. We should have thrown all the books out then and there.

His most recent escapade? We found him in his playpen. Only we hadn't put him there. He had been playing with a toy and we turned our backs for a minute (yeah, yeah, I know). We turned back, and there he was happily sitting inside his playpen. (The other odd thing is that whenever we put him in there, he howls so loudly you'd swear we were torturing the poor child).

A few days earlier, we had had another one of those "he can't do that" conversations. One morning, when I went in to get him out of his crib, I found him jumping up and down on the mattress. My wife was adamant in her assertion that he was too young to have the coordination to jump. I gave the universal male response of "Yes dear," and went on my merry way.

Then came the playpen incident. We've known for a while how good a climber he is (he was climbing long before he was walking), but we were still left wondering exactly how he had managed it. A playpen is pretty high compared to a sixteen month old and doesn't really have any natural handholds or footholds. That's pretty much the point of having a playpen.

The next day, we found out. He was about eight feet away from the playpen when he began to trot towards it. He built up speed and took a flying leap at the side of the playpen. He jumped high enough that his hands actually reached the top. This time, he wasn't able to find enough purchase for his feet and ended up sliding down the side a minute later. But we were pretty darn sure how he had managed to get in the last time.

The safety instructions that came with the playpen had said it could be used up until twenty four to thirty months. Apparently we should throw out the age guidelines to equipment along with the books.

Talking Up a Storm

2006-10-30T20:09:00.000-05:00

It's absolutely amazing to me how much Ethan has changed during the weeks that I lost in the hospital (I only managed to see him for two, fairly short, visits while I was there).

Back in June, I had begun listing Ethan's first words. At the time, I didn't think too much about how many words he had learned because both my wife and I were early talkers. In fact, he's quite serious about learning new words. Whenever he hears any word that we emphasize (from a book, everyday use, etc.) he tries very hard to say it. Of course we encourage him in this by repeating the word a number of times and responding with "Yea Ethan!," or "Very Good," or whatever. In most cases, he'll say the word a few times, be very pleased with himself (and rightly so), and then be done with it.

But his vocabulary has continued to increase and, after consultation with the early childhood books that we feel compelled to check his progress against, it seems like he actually has quite a lot of words for his age. This was confirmed by our pediatrician who dismissed my wife's claims out of hand, telling her that Ethan was just "making sounds" and she heard what she wanted to. Except that he makes the exact same sound for the same object every time he sees it and he'll often point to it. That sounds like words to me.

I kid you not, but his current vocabulary includes (among others): cat, dog (technically he says "Teddy," the name of the one dog he knows but he calls all dogs from his DVDs, books etc. "Teddy" so I count it), horse, cow, bear, duck, Daddy, Grampy (one of his grandfathers), "Yea!," "Whee!," book, glasses (surprisingly clearly), eyes, nose, teeth, block, car, truck, "T'ank oo" (thank you), uh-oh, diaper, light, blanket (meaning his favorite one), egg, cookie (we call Gerber's carrot-flavored Wagon Wheels "cookies") broccoli, and goldfish (the snack, not the animal).

He's also begun using his words to ask for things. He'll say "blanket" when he can't find his blanket, and I get asked for "cookies" and goldfish all day long. He's also able to point to some things that he still can't say, such as hair or ears.

Frankly, it's impressive as hel...ummm, heck. (Got to watch the language around the little one).

You may have noticed that there's one glaring omission from the above list. Mommy. For some reason, Ethan steadfastly refuses to say the word "Mommy." He clearly knows the word because he'll do things like go to Mommy when I say "Ethan, go to Mommy," and if both of us are sitting with him and I say "Where's Mommy's nose?" he'll touch her nose, not mine.

My wife is convinced that he's doing it on purpose just to torment her. Frankly, I wouldn't put it past him.

Saying Thank You

2006-10-27T15:47:00.000-05:00

Another etiquette issue has also taken an interesting turn.

A while back, one of Ethan's great aunts said "Thank you" to him when he handed her something and, for some reason, it stuck. He began saying "T'ank 'oo" whenever anyone gave him some food. Presumably he just likes the way it sounds or how it feels in his mouth. Nah! He likes the smiles and attention he gets when he comes out with his cute little version of it. We didn't really care why, we just hoped we had slipped, unnoticed, right past one of the major "etiquette hurdles" we had expected to encounter.

This went on for some time. If food was put on his plate, he ate it. If you handed it to him or put it right in his mouth, he said thank you. Somewhere along the line, he had decided that if we sometimes put food in his mouth then he should be putting food in our mouths. Not surprisingly, we thought this was also cute and sweet and it ended up encouraging him to keep doing it. Typically, he'd feed us a piece of something and then we'd feed him a piece of something back. Occasionally, we wouldn't be interested in what he offered and we'd just pretend to eat while simply giving it back to him to eat. There were always "thank yous" all around and, either way, he ended up getting some food back.

The other night, my wife was offering him pieces of pear; one of his favorites. After a while, he picked up a piece off the plate and toddled across the room where he very sweetly offered the piece to his "Grampy" who was lying on the sofa. Grampy then gave the obligatory thank you. All should have been well.

There was a slight problem however. Grampy also likes pears and, because he wasn't the one feeding Ethan, he didn't have anything else to give back. Without thinking about it, he promptly ate the piece of pear. Ethan had watched him do this but still quietly waited for his piece of food back. And waited. And waited. He then climbed up on the sofa and onto his Grampy's chest. He placed one hand on either side of Grampy's mouth, pulled it wide open, and proceeded to peer around inside looking for his pear.

I guess the manners still need some work.

Table Manners

2006-10-26T12:15:00.000-05:00

A while back, Ethan heard the phrase "Uh-oh!" and liked it so much that he kept repeating it. We were probably pretty lucky actually; he heard the phrase on a CD of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I've got to stop playing that....and several other things (he's also a big fan of Meatloaf, and of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Musical).

My wife thought it would be cute if we taught him to say it whenever he dropped something. Sometimes my wife totally confounds me. First, she'll tell me that I shouldn't "show him off like a trained seal." The next day she proposes something like this.

Anyway, Ethan picks this up pretty quickly and is soon saying "Uh-oh" whenever anything falls off his highchair tray. And, like most things all children do at this age, it's pretty cute. Until one day when I have my back turned and I hear him say "Uh-Oh!" I turn around, looking at the floor to see what he's dropped, and ask "What's 'Uh-oh' Ethan?" He promptly takes his sippie cup and throws it into the living room as hard as he can. He then says "Uh-oh!!" and grins wildly.

We probably should have seen that one coming.

And I Thought He Was a Handful Before...

2006-10-22T19:04:00.000-05:00

It's my own fault, I suppose. I'm naive or a Pollyanna. Or perhaps I'm just plain stupid. How could I possibly have thought that a child who couldn't walk was "a handful??"

A handful? Hell...mine needs a leash! I'm sure many of you just shook your heads and laughed when I called him a handful the first time and are now saying "I told you so." Go ahead, I deserve it.Over forty is definitely too old to be trying to raise a son. I had thought about things like not being around to see grandkids, or being almost sixty at his high school graduation. The real problem is that he can already run almost as quickly as I do and doesn't know the meaning of the word "winded."

I know it's beyond clichéd, but I really would love to bottle and sell even a fraction of his energy. I don't even know where it's coming from...he doesn't eat that much! And it's still like trying to keep up with the Energizer Bunny. On speed.

My Absence

2006-10-19T16:33:00.000-05:00

Sorry to any of you who were reading, or linking to, my blog. Unfortuantely, I've been quite ill.

I've had to spend almost an entire month in the hospital.

This enjoyable escapade was punctuated by my needing to be taken there by ambulance three times in 8 days. All three times I was unconscious and all three times I arrived at the hospital in a coma. I was not expected to live.

Best of all, they still don't know why it happened.

I will do my best to begin posting as soon as I can.

Driving Daddy Nuts

2006-07-28T21:46:00.000-05:00

First, I once again need to apologize for the lack of posts. I think I'm just going to have to accept the fact that this is going to be (at best) a once or twice a week blog and just get on with my life. Oh well.

This time, the problem was two-fold (apart from the obvious time-drain involved in being a first-time, stay at home dad). First, was the war in the Middle East. As a Jew, the Israeli conflict was of particular interest and concern for me. I briefly considered writing a piece regarding my rather strong opinions on the matter, but finally decided that despite its importance to me, it would constitute a diversion from the topic of the blog. (I'm still not at all sure that I made the right decision, but two weeks into the conflict it feels a bit late now). In addition, I had yet another medical problem (definitely not a good month for me, health-wise), which put me completely out of commission from Saturday the the 22nd thru Wednesday, the 26th. I'm still not close to being 100%, but my wife couldn't take off any more time from work to take care of Ethan for me and I just had to tough it out yesterday and today.

Anyway, on to Ethan. He's doing many of the typical one-year-old stuff (at least I hope they're typical), along with those 13-month-old things that are pretty much unique to any one baby. In the "more typical" department, he's begun waggling his fingers up and down over his mouth while babbling. You know...going "Bbbbb, bbb, bbbb" while physically moving his fingers up and down on his lips to enhance the effect. (I hope that was clear as I can't describe it any better than that). I bring it up mainly because it's simply a riot to watch (we apparently have Nana to thank for that one). The other, apparently fairly common, activity is that he'll reach up with both hands and tug on his hair (he tugs pretty hard, too). Just to be clear, the commonness of this activity is based on one of our parenting books, and I make no claims as to it's accuracy. So don't blame me if your son does this simply because he's weird. According to this book, a child may do this as a comforting activity. I'm still not at all clear why this activity might be comforting, but it's apparently somewhat akin to tugging on one's "blankie" or playing with the fabric tag on a toy, etc. Frankly, I still don't get it.

Next, is the category of things he does that are simply interesting. The first activity is charactized by Ethan putting both of his hands up next to his cheeks and then rapidly, but lightly, patting himself on the cheeks over and over again. Not surprisingly, if Mommy or Daddy mimics this, it's the best thing since sliced bread (at least until his new trick next week). At the moment, we're trying to figure out how to capture this as a still photograph because it would end up looking very much like Edvard Munch's "The Scream." He has also begun rolling his eyes. I wouldn't have minded this so much, (I'm usually happy to see any new activity or word), except that I didn't expect to be seeing this particular motion until he was at least twelve.

Finally, we come to the list of those activities which are probably best described as "idiosyncratic" (this is the "best" term as it's one of the few choices that won't result in my wife hitting me). I.e., those activities that "drive Daddy nuts." What I've basically learned is that Ethan's going to copy everything I do. Now, don't get me wrong, I knew he was going to say words that I said and do the things that I do. I simply never realized that it was going to be every single motion that I ever made.

One day last week, we were on the floor of the dining room playing with one of his toys. All of a sudden, he began taking these deep breaths like he was gasping for air. At this point, everything I learned in that CPR and choking course my wife and I took last year promptly raced through my head and then proceeded to drain out of my ears onto the floor leaving me with absolutely no idea what to do. Luckily, I realized after a couple of seconds that, although he was clearly gasping, he didn't seem to be choking or not getting enough air in any way. After a few more seconds, I realized that it seemed to be voluntary for some reason. He stopped, it didn't start again, and I simply filed it away under "things to ask my wife about when she gets home." I then went back to what we were doing, and I picked up where we had left off. I had just noticed that one of the cats was sleeping on a chair under the dining room table (usually a potential source of great excitement) and had proceeded to say "Ahhhh. Ethan! Look! A cat!" On the "Ahhh," I had taken a rather deep intake of breath in an exaggerated expression of surprise. Ethan had of course noticed and, rather than saying "cat," or looking, or anything else I was hoping for, had decided to emulate the gasp. He now goes around making these gasps (typically in rapid succession); sometimes for attention, and sometimes just for fun. I had to make absolutely sure that I warned my wife before she got home and called 911.

Finally, for some time now, I've been attempting to teach Ethan the word "No." (Before you all start laughing at me, I didn't expect him to actually do it, just learn it). I was basically working on the theory (now pretty much accepted) that children know the meanings of words long before they can say them and use them appropriately. I suppose I was thinking that given Ethan's basic personality, I needed to get a running start. (Of course I've now learned, at least according to an article in Parenting Magazine -- an often useful publication despite it's mind-numbingly rabid anti-Daddy bias -- that children under the age of approximately 18 to 24 months are simply incapable of controlling their impulses appropriately and, thus, even once they've learned the word "No" it may be quite a while before they actually listen to you). In any event, I was trying to teach him the word. Apparently, and completely subconsciously, I was often shaking my head from side-to-side in a "no" motion whenever I said "No" to him. I learned this when he began shaking his own head in a "No" motion (which is not, of course, followed by him doing anything even remotely resembling not doing whatever I told him "No" about). This movement is often a bit jerky, only adding to it's amusement value; he rapidly learned to exploit this of course. He quickly began doing it whenever he wanted attention, waiting for us to do it back. He then began adding a long, drawn-out "ooooo" sound whenever he made the motion. I obviously became attuned to this problem rather quickly, and now make it a point to never, ever shake my head while saying "No." Now, in a final and comprehensive mockery of what I had orginally attempted, he has begun shaking his head "No" in that side-to-side motion (even when I'm positive that I'm not doing it) whenever I tell him "No."

And he has an ear-to-ear grin the entire time.

Of Rolling & Clenching

2006-07-10T10:58:00.000-05:00

Well, things have more or less returned to normal around here. Ethan remains your normal, charming one-year-old. (Well, we think he's brilliant but don't all first-time parents?) You know....climbing up my arm (only the one with the pulled tendon, of course), or deciding that my fractured finger is a good thing to teeth on. This was the first time I actually yelled at him (well, it was intended to include anyone else within earshot, but still). I believe it was along the lines of "No! No! No!", but the pain did make things a bit blurry to remember.

Anyway, I thought I'd share some of his playing habits. First, he's taken to wrapping himself in his blanket (or a stray piece of clothing, or whatever else is handy), and proceeding to roll over and over again. It's disconcertingly like watching a dog chasing his tail. We've now turned it into a game where, when he's lying face down, we'll say "Where's Ethan?" He'll begin giggling and, when he turns right side up again we'll say "Peekaboo!" or "There's Ethan" or something along those lines. Not surprisingly, this can go on for quite some time.

The other, um...interesting thing he does has been going on for quite some time and I'm somewhat surprised that I haven't mentioned it before. Perhaps because it's a bit difficult to describe. Every so often, Ethan will clench most of his upper body muscles and begin to shake a little. The first few times he did this, we were seriously concerned that he was having some type of seizure. But no...this is completely voluntary. He does it in an attempt to play with us and when he does it, he expects us to do it back. Over time, it has steadily developed in complexity. The first development was that he began holding his arms out in a circle shape - as if he were hugging a giant teddy bear - and then clenched his arms and face muscles such that he slightly shook while providing us with a fairly grotesque grimace. This later morphed into an extremely funny situation in which he would he strike different "poses." His favorite being something resembling the Stautue of Liberty (but still giving us "the grimace"). Remember, he's shaking or trembling slightly every time he does this. Obviously, we thought this was pretty funny (actually, I believe that I called it "a bit odd," but my wife forbid me from using that word). But whenever we laughed when he did it, he got quite upset. Apparently, the only appropriate response as far as he's concerned is for us to imitate him and, possibly, give him a faint smile when we're done.

We simply have to get this on videotape before he stops doing it as words cannot begin to do it justice.

Postscript (Tuesday, July 11, 2006): Just saw this posting at At Home Daddy and I had to point it out to you. It's nice to know that I'm not the only father being driven almost to drink by their children.

A Very, Very Long Week

2006-07-06T19:46:00.000-05:00

Well, I had been planning to post the rant about playgrounds, mommies, and daddies that I've been wanting to deliver, but intervening events have forced me to postpone my diatribe yet again. On the one hand, it's probably a good thing because I'm sure to get angry comments whenever I do get around to posting it. On the other hand, any comments at all would be welcomed as it would mean that I have readers which would be a refreshing change.

In any event, I now present the reason for my recent quietness. (Note: the squeamish should probably stop reading here and now and just wait for my next post. Consider yourself warned). Last Monday morning, just after I finished feeding Ethan breakfast, I decided that slamming my finger in a cabinet door might be an interesting experience. Not one to do things halfway, I placed my hand on top of the door right near the hinge (what better way to get the full force of the door?), put all of my weight on that hand as I bent down to retrieve whatever it was that I needed, and then proceeded to slam the door shut. Needless to say, the experiment was pretty much a complete failure as it ended up being extraordinarily painful. And bloody. Very, very bloody. "Why would it be bloody?", you ask. Well, it was bloody because I had actually managed to pull the nail up out of my fingertip, leaving a quarter-inch of bare, bloody skin between the base of my nail (well, technically, the base of where my nail was now) and the cuticle. Hence the blood.

At this point, I feel compelled to give Ethan some well-deserved accolades. When I had finished feeding him, I had thrown the customary handful of Cheerios his way which usually gives me the five minutes I need to clean up. At which time I proceeded with my little experiment. Not surprisingly, I spent the next ten minutes (probably more): trying to call my wife and have her turn around and stay home from work (her cell-phone was turned off), calling my mother-in-law, an R.N., for advice, and lots of time bleeding, wrapping the finger in a gauze pad, tape, and more gauze, and then cleaning up all of the blood which I had lost prior to the gauze, etc. Throughout this entire time, Ethan just sat there watching me and munching away on his Cheerios. What a trooper! (Not to mention the fact that the box of Cheerios paid for itself right then and there).

Long story short, I eventually made my way to the doctor (with Ethan, of course, which is always a pleasure. Don't get me wrong....he's an amazingly even-tempered child. But no one likes the doctor's office). He proceeded to tell me that I needed to see a surgeon immediately. Given that it was after 3:00 and Ethan was already overdue to be changed, fed, and put down for his nap, that was simply not an option. We finally agreed that I could see the surgeon tomorrow, when I could get my mother-in-law to cover for me (given that this is somewhat akin to telling a wolf he can have all the chickens he wants, it was fairly easy to set up). The surgeon proceeds to tell me the nail has to be taken off (ooo...gross), he thinks it will grow back in about three months, and "Oh, by the way, you fractured it."

All of this is in addition to the fact that I pulled a tendon in my left arm several weeks ago (this is much more painful than it sounds). I now have a right index finger that I can't use at all (and I'm very right-handed), and a left arm that is rapidly getting worse as I need to do more and more things with it in order to accomodate my right hand.

Oh, I forgot to mention. I'm not permitted to allow the bandage on my index finger to get wet under any circumstances. I defy you to change a poopy diaper and then wash your hands in even a vaguely appropriate manner that would allow you to feed your son lunch, and do so without getting your index finger at least slightly wet.

I think all of this gives me some slack in the posting department.

Of Weddings and Sippie Cups

2006-06-27T19:36:00.000-05:00

My wife, Susan, and I recently went to her cousin's wedding. The wedding was nice, but we did spend some time trying to figure out the seating arrangements. While we liked the people we were sitting with, we were a bit confused because we were seated with one of the bride's brothers but not the other. Later, my wife came up with what I suspect is the right answer. Each of the couples at our table had at least one child about one year old (give or take a few months). While we had never seen this particular rationale for seating arrangements before, it actually made a lot of sense. It automatically gave all of us one topic that we were all interested in.

In fact, we got the very useful tip of trying sippie cup nipples made by "Nuby." (Oddly, they don't seem to have their own website, but their products can be found virtually everywhere). Unlike other sippie cups, these nipples aren't rigid but are made of a more flexible plastic similar to baby bottle nipples. The advantage for us is that we had tried to give Ethan typical sippie cups but, while he enjoyed using them as a teething ring, he just wasn't getting the concept of sucking on a piece of rigid plastic. With these "nipples," which are shaped just like typical sippie cup spouts, Ethan is quickly getting the idea. Not only do they feel more like what he's used to but, unlike typical sippie cups, if he chews on them milk comes out. He now knows that this new shape produces milk, just like his bottle. In addition, they come in both bottle shape (which also helped Ethan out because he knew they looked like food), and in typical sippie cup shape with handles to further ease the transition.

Who would've thought that a wedding could be so informative?

Postscript (Friday, June 30, 2006): Yea! Ethan began saying "Daddy" today. It was sometimes "Da'ee" but most of the time it was crystal clear. Either way, it sounds great. Granted, I don't think he has any clue what it means yet; he was saying the word constantly, and calling everything in sight "Daddy." Until my wife got home, at which point he refused to say it even once. I'm still not sure she believes me.

My Son is Now Officially "A Handful"

2006-06-24T10:24:00.000-05:00

Well, it's finally happened. Last week was Ethan's birthday and, that very day, he officially became "a handful." It's funny, all of the mother's I spoke to at the local playground (because God forbid that you ever see any men playing with their children during business hours - sorry, didn't mean to start my rant quite yet) kept telling me how good I had it and "Just wait 'till he starts to walk." Not Ethan. He pretty much insists on doing things his way.

Last week he did not begin walking (although he "cruises" beautifully and has repeatedly taken a few steps before falling on his butt). He began climbing. And I mean everything he could get his hot little hands on. The sofas, the armchair...he's even made it to the top of the stairs without stopping (with one of us right behind him, of course). The first problem with this is that his favorite stepstools are his parents. He'll come running over and climb up on us, as if he wants a kiss or cuddle. But no. All he wants is a foothold. He then proceeds to grab the sofa, plant both feet firmly on your stomach, and pushes as hard as he can. If he can't quite make it....no problem. He just grabs a bunch of your hair and uses that to finish pulling himself up.

Of course, once he's up there, he wants to go higher and tries desperately to continue his journey by looking for a foothold on the back of the sofa. He's already done well enough to pull off one of the blinds. The real problem is that once he's up on the sofa he's able to crawl just as quickly as he can on the floor. Which means we've also had to repeatedly pull him off of the two end tables (previously safe) before he reaches something that we don't want him to.

The other fun part is his creativity in the matter. We had tied a pillow around the front of the end table in order to secure the drawers because we hadn't been able to find any drawer-locks that we liked which didn't also ruin the table; I think our solution was not only ingenous, but high-tech and very attractive. In any event, one of the first things he learned was that he was able to create little footholds by pushing the pillow in, and then pushed down on the top in order to give himself an easy step up. Fun, fun, fun. My personal favorite is the fact that he's already learned how to pull over a toy in order to use it as a step to reach what he wants. He has already climbed up on a small plastic table and made it halfway into his "toy-shelf" before we managed to pull him out. Not to mention the obvious fact that he can easily push this table over so that he can climb up onto the sofa whenever he wants. He's even started to try and climb up on things simply by gaining the two inches that he gets by standing on one of his (rather wobbly) blocks.

His latest trick is that he's now begun climbing the end table in his bedroom (it has sort-of an inlaid series of cross-hatched pieces of wood). I wouldn't mind this so much if it weren't right next to his changing table. Luckily, it hasn't occurred to him yet, but the changing table has a natural foothold as the bottom shelf is only about two inches off the ground (I've seen him reach footholds at least five inches high). If he ever decides that this would be a fun thing to scale, we're going to have a problem; the changing-table isn't nearly secure enough to handle the weight of a one-year-old climbing up one side of it. Now all we have to do is figure out how to secure the darn thing to the wall! Or do without, I suppose.

Ahh. The joys of having children.

Ethan, Animals, and the Sounds They Make

2006-06-21T20:51:00.001-05:00

First of all, I want to apologize to all of you for not posting for so long. (Well, technically, there's no one reading this yet but it's the thought that counts. Right?) But I have a pretty good excuse...Ethan turned one yesterday. Yea! Interestingly (it's actually more on the bizarre side, but "interesting" sounds a lot better and he is my son after all), "Yea!" was Ethan's first word. Yep, not Mommy or Daddy or even Nana. It was Yea! Granted, it's probably not all that strange because my wife had spent the prior month saying "Yea Ethan!" while raising her hands over her head every time he did something well or new. For a while, all we got was "A, E!" but he eventually managed "Yea!" I still would have preferred Daddy. Since then, he's mastered three more words:

1) Cat - not all that surprising. We have two of them, and every time he sees one of them his eyes light up and he gets all excited and you'd swear he'd never seen one before. This happens at least five times a day. Naturally, as soon as he sees one, he goes barrelling after it at top Ethan-speed. At least some of this is the cats' fault. One of them insists on playing with him. Every time he goes after her, she runs about seven or eight feet away, stops, and looks back to make sure he's still following her. When he gets close, she does the same thing again. She does this around corners, through the legs of the dining room chairs, etc. So it's pretty hard to blame Ethan when she gets careless and lets him get close enough to grab her fur and tug. Hard. The other cat is just so mind-numbingly stupid that she has allowed Ethan to corner her both in an open room and in a room with tall sofas to jump on or hide behind. Once again, it's kinda hard to blame the inevitable fur pulling entirely on Ethan. Luckily, neither cat has ever come close to snapping, hitting or even growling at him even when he has them cornered and is tugging on their fur with all of his strength.

2) Book - I was thrilled about this one. He absolutely loves books, and he's gotten good enough to turn the pages on his own and even manages to turn the pages until he reaches the pictures he likes (I know its intentional because he typically has only one or two favorite pages in any one book and those are almost always the ones he turns to). He's sat and "read" a book to himself for upwards of ten minutes. Sometimes, he makes sounds to himself as he turns the pages. After all, Daddy always makes sounds when he reads books to him. It's just adorable.

3) Click - Yes, I said "click." Whenever I strap him into his highchair or his carseat, I say "Click!" whenever I snap two pieces together. I learned a long time ago that if I make different noises for different things I do, he'll sit still longer while I'm doing them. Sure enough, he's begun saying "Click" when I strap him into things.

Assorted animal sounds - His favorite book is probably his book with pictures of animals. When I read it to him, I make the appropriate sound. Currently, in the world according to Ethan, the lion makes a sound that I can't spell but is basically a deep-throated "Roar" sound, but without the R's. The cow says "Ooooo," and the monkey says "Eeee, eeee, eeee, eeee!" and is accompanied by a quick up-and-down bobbing motion.

But Mommy or Daddy? Forget it. I swear he's doing it on purpose.

I feel compelled to add one more thing. My brother-in-law went to the University of Alabama and is a big fan of the Crimson Tide, their football team. This is back when they were good (i.e., when "Bear" Bryant was there). To cheer the team on, one yells "Roll Tide!" Of course my brother-in-law felt compelled to keep saying this to his son and, sure enough, my nephew's first words were "Roll Tide."

So remember, whatever your child's first words are....it could always be worse.

Postscript (Tuesday, June 27, 2006): Well, Ethan came up with yet another word today. Apparently, we can now add "Duck" to his small, but growing, vocabulary. I'm still not sure I understand his obsession with animals, but he's certainly allowed to pick whatever words he likes to learn (although I do hope he doesn't come out with "Damn it!" any time soon). I may wish it had been "Mama" or "Dada," but it's still progress.

Mommies - More Power to 'Em

2006-06-16T20:40:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I briefly mentioned the woman's traditional role as homemaker and primary caregiver. I had intended to say more, but as with everything else in my life these days I ran out of time.

Simply put, having now been my son's primary caregiver for the last eight and a half months, I am far more appreciative of my mother and, in fact, of all mothers and grandmothers everywhere. Did I say "appreciative?" I meant in awe of. I simply have no clue how they managed (and continue to manage) to take care of several children at once and get dinner on the table, all while doing all of the cleaning, laundry, etc. And single mothers? Forget it. They clearly have supernatural powers.

A woman I met at the local playground a week ago is a good example. More on the playground later; I simply don't have time right now to discuss all of my lovely experiences as the only man in sight. Believe me, I'll get to it. Anyway, this woman. She and I got to talking while we were both looking at the bulletin board for special events, classes, etc. Ethan was very excited about being right next to her four and a half month old son. Unlike myself, she was smart enough to be carrying her son in one of those baby carriers that straps on over your shoulders. Ethan has me trained to carry him around in my arms the whole time. In fact, I pretty much have to keep moving at all times. If I stop to talk, or show him other children playing, or God forbid actually sit for two minutes, he will very quickly make it clear that this is unacceptable behavior on my part. He will typically do this by rolling to one side and then attempting to jump out of my arms all in one motion. Again, anyway.....it turned out that she was also watching her two and a half year old daughter and her four year old son. More power to her. I can barely keep up with one.

She and I actually spoke for a while (numerous short conversations thanks to Ethan's contortions), because we had similar senses of humor - why do I suspect that's largely how she gets through the day? - and were in somewhat similar circumstances. She had a Master of Fine Arts degree and was a classically-trained singer. She was also putting her excellent education to use everyday in her home. Presumably by singing lullabies. As an interesting aside, and appropos of absolutely nothing, she had become a piano tuner because she got tired of trying to sing with pianos that were poorly tuned.

She also told me an amusing story regarding her daughter's potty training. Once again, it's very good she can laugh at it. Apparently, her daughter had come over to her the other day all excited and told her "Look Mommy, I made a poopy!" Unfortunately, it was in the middle of the kitchen floor. I then felt compelled to share my own story of how Ethan somehow managed to remove his diaper even though he was wearing a shirt and a pair of overalls. Twice. He is no longer dressed in shirts, but only in "onesies" which go down over the diaper and have snaps in the crotch. For now, this seems to have done the trick.

Tomorrow, I promise to discuss something (anything) unrelated to any of my son's bodily functions.

My Life With Ethan

2006-06-15T22:44:00.000-05:00

I thought about how I should start this for a bit, but finally decided that whatever I said was either going to sound stupid or pre-packaged so I decided to not worry about it. (I think I ended up stupid.....oh well).

So, to get the formalities out of the way: I'm 41 years old, happily married, and have a son turning 1 next week. I graduated from college magna cum laude with highest honors in Psychology, and I graduated from an Ivy League Law School where I was the finalist in the Moot Court debate. So, what do I do for a living? High-powered attorney in a New York City lawfirm? No. Perhaps a minor politician in DC? No. Maybe I'm a criminal defense attorney to the stars?? Uh, no.

I'm putting all of my higher education to use by doing what so many, many women before me have done. I'm staying home with my son, Ethan, full-time.

Except that I'm not a woman. You mean you're a "stay at home dad??" C'mon, those don't really exist, do they? And besides, you couldn't be happy doing that anyway. I mean, even the acronym they give you guys makes it sound awful. Don't they call you a SAHD?

Yes. Yes, they do. (For those of you who didn't make the connection, it stands for Stay At Home Dad). Except that I love it. Every minute of it. Well, maybe 98% of it. Okay, I could probably do without the twisting, turning and screaming act while I'm trying to change his diaper. I could definitely have done without the diaper explosion the other day that went halfway up his back and that I only discovered by putting both of my hands in it as I went to change him. How fast can you say "time for a bath?" (There was also the question of how do you go about cleaning him up when both of your hands are covered in poo and you're holding him under one arm like a football, but lets not get into that.) And, before you ask, no....I actually don't have a problem with diaper duty (the stereotypical Daddy phobia). Although, as an aside, two years ago I would never have believed how interested I could become in another person's bodily functions, and how little I'd mind dealing with it. And I do still feel that my smelling his bottom is a bit odd (interestingly, he seems to find it very amusing). Those complaints were just the two hardest things that had happened in the last 48 hours.

But such is my life with Ethan.