The Tasty Tot

OUCH!! Boo Boo Mama!

Is there something I'm doing wrong here as a mother? Is there some cosmic secret of parenting that somehow prevents your child from being bitten? We go to the same park every day, play with the same kids every day, see the same slides, the same swings, the same sand, every day. Yet, my kid is the one who seems to incite biting in the other children.
P.S. I know the pictures aren't great; but, you try to take a picture of a squirmy toddler's arm without putting it in a vice. I tried that, but it left worse marks than the bite.

I keep racking my brain and trying to pretend that he's not my sweet, innocent boy to see it from another angle. Maybe he's mean. Maybe he's a shovel stealer, a sand-in-the-eye-thrower, a shover, a kicks-in-the-shins-kid. But, he's really not. Sure, he has his moments. But, what 19-month old kid doesn't? On the whole though, he's pretty mellow and easy going.

So, why did he get bitten again today? At least this time, it wasn't by Damien. Which on one hand is comforting, but the other is slightly alarming. That means he's found to be tasty by yet another child. This one is one who's never bitten anyone, ever. So, Collin is turning them, slowly to the dark side with his delicious morsel-ness appearance.

His mama was awesome though. The biter apologized and was whisked home in tears, kicking and screaming for not being allowed to play anymore. But, he didn't play nice with his friends, and she followed through with his punishment, so hooray. I got some snuggle hugs and saw some big tears that broke my heart. Grace was terrified by the incident, as she is by seeing Damien these days. The mere sight of him sends her into hysterics akin to seeing a Disney Princess hanging in effigy from the swing set.

The weird thing about these bites is that these kids never seem to be having any kind of disagreement before they happen. They are just hanging out, playing and BAM Collin is screaming and scarred for life. Okay, not scarred for life, just bumped a bit. But, it's totally unexpected and seemingly unpreventable. I'm not about to hover over him and shoo away kids like flies off dog doo. I want him to be free to explore and socialize with kids, learn the rules and ropes of friendship, supervising but not interfering unless I have to. But, it's kind of hard to sit a few feet away, when he keeps getting chunks of flesh ripped of like this!

So, I send this plea to toddlers everywhere who see my boy: stop biting him. I don't know what the deal is, but knock it off. He doesn't like it. I don't like it. We don't get it. He doesn't taste like whatever you think he tastes like and we don't really think it's so much fun. Thanks!

He seems to be okay now though.....Mama is still a little shaken; but, she's a wuss about her baby getting hurt. I'd better get over that, huh? Everyone is still telling us he's going to be a football player and they get hurt a lot. I think that's just their nice way of saying that he's fat. If he were underweight, would we be told he was going to be a figure skater?

When Dada's Away...the Midweek Report

I attempted to do something that no sane, thinking person really should. I did Disneyland with a toddler...alone. Yeah, these annual passes are awesome and burning a hole in my pocket and Daddy's not here and Collin's just sitting there looking cute and free through the gate. And, it's so, so, so, so much fun to take him. So, I figured why the heck not?

Here's the reasons: one person has to carry the stroller, the bags the baby and the everything else on the tram off the tram and to and from the car; one person has to take the kiddo in and out of the stroller all day; oh yeah, and one person has full responsibility for the that same kiddo all day. One person gets all the fun, sure; but one person gets all the diapers, all the food (hey I didn't even THINK of how I would carry the tray, push the stroller and get a straw, a highchair and all that stuff at the SAME TIME!...leave my baby at table while I did that...uh, nope).

Okay, I must admit that it was totally fun though. I had this idea that I wanted one of those horribly overpriced pictures that the vest-guys are taking of you when you come through the gate. You know, a "Collin and Mommy's Special Day Out" picture? So, I walk in, pull him out of the stroller and march up to the vest-guy with my best, "Yes, I'm willing to give you $20 for a single photo face" and he totally ignores me and turns to the gaggle of 300-lb girls celebrating a birthday and proceeds to take about six pictures of them, making me feel like a stalker waiting behind him to. I felt like I was begging him to take my money, like pretty woman without the pretty part in that scene where she gets denied service at the snotty boutique. What? Collin's not as cute as the girls! We got our photo, don't worry. But, he didn't offer to gay it up like he did for them, asking me to put out my hand for an imaginary Tinkerbell that would be superimposed later. Apparently, Collin didn't look the Tinkerbell type.

We had a fabulous time after that hiccup. Don't tell too many people but this is a great time to go. We actually walked right onto all the rides and rode most of them twice in the hours we were there. We didn't even stay all day. All Collin could talk about was boats. So, we rode all the boat rides twice. Then, we rode traffic home because I'm an idiot and left at five o'clock. Der!

But, Collin's decided that this week is the Kill-Mama-Week. He's kept me up all night last night and the night before. Last night, he actually wanted to sleep with me. I know, crazy. But, he didn't so much want to sleep as he wanted to crawl as close to me as humanly possible, then closer. If he could've, he would've invaded my skin. Once he had reshaped my face by smushing against it, he was pretty comfy. Then, he insisted that I hum and rub his back, constantly. While this was actually pretty lovely and cozy, except for the face reshaping part, it was also 2 am and he wouldn't let me stop humming. In fact, if I stopped, even for a second, he'd pull his cute little face away and sign "music" to me with vehemence usually reserved for Nazi kill orders. So, by about 2:30, I told him he had to go back to his own bed, a devastating decision for this Mama because she loves nothing more than those snuggle moments that are so rare for her baby. But, it had to be done. So, he's been exhausted, exhausting me and has learned to yell louder than ever. Through breakfast he screamed "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!" endlessly just for the heck of it and found himself to be hysterical. He shoved and hit Grace more times today than I can count and he threw everything he could find at her. He made me hold him all through our lunch preparation today and he actually cried, CRIED the whole time he ate. He's never been this way. I'm thinking two skipped naps this week are what's done it. I refuse to believe it's possible that terrible twos are on the horizon. Either way, even his beloved Monkey is taking up drinking to deal with the situation. (actually, Collin insisted that Monkey have his own drink at breakfast yesterday...cute, no?)

Collin's First REAL babysitters

So, Dada is away...again. Not big news on our front actually. But, he's actually been around a lot lately, so I won't complain. This made for a BUSY day for us. We had a zillion errands to do today, plus a doctor's appointment to check for "silent ear infections." What the heck does that mean?

Apparently, the doctor claims that because my child is such an amazing angel who never complains, he's concerned that he might have been having secret, stealthy ear infections all this time when he has had colds in the past and he wants to be certain that he hasn't been slipping them by under the radar, causing damage to his ears and thus surreptitiously causing his speech delay, or helping it along anyway. So, he made me promise to bring him in about five days after the next time he had a cold. Well, remember Daddy brought us one, oh about a week ago? Alas, to add to the errands, a doctor's appointment smack dab in the middle of the day...at nap time. So, kiddo didn't get a nap!

A good preparation for his first real babysitters. I did it. I broke down and called real babysitters, the kind you have to pay because they don't have any DNA in common with you, except that they are also homosapiens. Because it was last minute, owing to the fact that my dear hubby decided to spring this TDY on me last minute (not that it is his fault or anything of course), I had to run down the list of babysitters in the back of the handy-dandy spouses club phone book pretty quickly.

No one wanted the job at first. It's a school night, and I was planning on being out past nine. Gasp! All the kids are about 12 or 13, which FREAKED ME THE HECK OUT at first. Bryon convinced me that was old enough, especially since they are all certified through the Red Cross Training Course and that I babysat at that age. Finally, I landed on a pair of sisters who like to come together and I figured two for the price of one and a tag-team couldn't be half bad.

And, they are home schooled, so they can stay out as late as they want because they catch up on their lessons whenever. Normally, I am kind of weirded out by home schooled kids or the idea of it. Shoot me if you disagree, but whatever. That's my opinion and I'm going to stick with it. But, these kids were GREAT! I love them. I want them back! They came in with a zillion questions about how I wanted things done. They knew how to care for kids and it showed. Experience dripped out of their pores. And they carried themselves like they were twenty, not twelve and thirteen and it wasn't just their overdeveloped, too-much-hormones-in-their milk-bodies-saying that. They were actually mature, well-spoken girls.

I felt totally confident leaving them with my kid, who by the way screamed for Mama at the door. Does that ever get easier? Will he scream at the door of his college dorm room? I hope so. Or wait, that will just be me with the car window down hanging out and wailing, humiliating him as I screech his name and that he'd better write...EVERY DAY!!!...oh yeah, and CALL!...EVERY NIGHT!!!...and that I LOVE HIM!!!!!

This is Halloween! This is Halloween! This is Halloween!

In case anyone missed it. It was pretty awesome. Collin was a monkey; or a bear, or a mouse if you listen to any of the number of sort of dumb people who said "oh what a cute (fill in the blank of wrong costume choice)" that we encountered on our first walking trick or treating adventure. I say he looks like a monkey...when's the last time you saw a bear with a banana on his paw...or a mouse for that matter!
It was great because it followed our speech therapy evaluation this afternoon...his second. We learned a bit more from this gal than from the UCLA doctor. Our new therapist, Amber with a last name that no parent, let alone a kid with a speech problem could pronounce, so we'll just call her Amber, which then makes her sound kind of like a high school cheerleader who maybe can't be an expert in anything except gum snapping---sorry to diss the high school cheerleaders.

Anyway, she says she thinks that based on his feeding problems in infancy, the fact that he has that "word a day thing" where he will suddenly say words totally clearly but then never say them again, and a handful of other signs, like having words and dropping them, etc, he is likely suffering from a condition called verbal aproxyia (I have no idea if I'm spelling that right). This means that the muscles in his mouth are not actually responding to the signals that his little brain is sending him. So it's a connection problem between the two systems.

Luckily, she said it's very treatable and correctable (and won't have any lasting learning effects) with therapy and she said his receptive language is totally on target, if not above (agreeing with the UCLA doctor). She was wowed by it actually. Mr. Collin was a star with all her questions, giving her little bear a drink and putting him right to bed, handing her a cup, a shoe and block instantly, even driving her little car in circles around the room. Oh, and pointing at pictures in her little book, forget about it. He's an ace! Just don't ask him to TALK about any of it. He'd be a perfect mobster. The whole assessment pooped him out though!

But, back to the effect of all of this on HALLOWEEN! The point is, he kind of hears himself repeating things okay, even if he's totally wrong. So, when we told him to say "trick or treat," he decided that "gabba gabba gee" was definitely the way to go. He said exactly that every single time. Wrong, but could anything be cuter than that? Once, and only once at a house about a block away, we got it right exactly, but that's it. Other than that, "gabba gabba gee." Yes, there's a video and it's painfully cute, especially since, he enjoyed trading candy with me back and forth once he realized that's what you are supposed to do after saying "gabba gabba gee." And, he promptly put the wrapped candy in his mouth. Yumm!

And of course, he was adorable in his monkey suit and didn't really want to take it off! I'm pretty shocked about that part, especially since after a few hours, I could see the sweaty hair plastered to his head. I finally took the head off and let him cool down a bit. You know what? He smelled really bad! For the first time ever, I didn't want to snuggle him! He smelled THAT BAD!
But, this morning, it was back to snuggle as usual and apparently yesterday's hat business has stuck, partially because of Miss Grace because he saw this hat in a pile of clothes given to us by a neighbor and he kept repeating "Tace! Tace!" (his word for Grace) and wanting to wear it. Grace wears a hat all the time to the park, and for all 19 months of Mr. Collin's life, hats have been a battle. Voila, a girl he loves does it and it's a miracle, hats are Kosher. Apparently, monkey head plus Grace wearing hat equals hats are cool. All in all a good day!

Super (Pooper) Thursday...On Friday

I know, I know, it's Halloween. We'll get to that tomorrow. We don't have pictures of Halloween until it's actually over with, mmmkay? But, let me prepare you in advance, you WILL be witnessing perhaps the cutest monkey ever to don the costume. It will melt your heart; it will make your eyes weep; it will move mountains...if he keeps the hood up. He's not too keen on hats! You can at least see the attempt at "coloring" his punkin today. It went poorly. I think he drew one line on there before deciding that brushing Eddie was of more pressing importance.

Eddie, whom by the way, he's decided he is clearly the boss of lately. Yesterday, Collin simply would not be moved to go to the park until he pressed the dog's bottom to the floor to make him sit. Then, as if that weren't enough, he backed out of the house, pointing at him, glowering and very sternly voicing a command that started with the letter "s" but truthfully could've been "stay" or "succotash" for all I know. It was adorable but very silly.

Anyway, as you might know, Thursdays are big days in our house because the rock star garbage man comes by, not just once but twice! It's the first sound my little man hears in the morning and at the cock crow of the whirring engine approaching, he beckons me to grab him and drag him down to watch the truck as it barrels down the street.

The garbage man has come to expect us sitting on the curb, waving and yes, now giving him a standing ovation as he passes our house, so much so, that he not only waves at us in return, but gives us a garbage truck salute by lifting the front of the truck and dumping nothing into the back, just to let Collin see the hydraulics move a few extra times. Nice guy, huh? Then, it's up the stairs to get dressed and do it all again and we dash back down to watch him go back by the other way.

Well, this Thursday was extra super, as the night before we must've eaten something that was clearly a gear greaser for my man and on the dash downstairs to meet the garbage man I realized that he was a bit wet in the butt. Well, I also realized he was a bit stinky. It's not like he's never had a wet seat before on the curb. I mean, come on, a boy, sleeping all night, of course he's soaked. My kid drinks water like he just ran the Ironman so he usually wakes up with an eight pound diaper.

But, this wet was a bit mushier, a but more "special," if you will. And yes, by the time we got to the curb, it's aroma was wafting to my nose, even outside. It was lovely, that wait for the garbage man. I wonder if he could smell it too, all the way across the street, over the stench of trash. I wouldn't be surprised; it was just that special and just that super.

Of course, it's always a dash to get him dressed in time for the second round by. Don't ask me why we don't just wait down there in the first place. I don't know. It's just not how things are done. We have a routine and we're sticking to it. So of course, with World War Poop down there, it was definitely an extreme rush to get him down in time for the second pass, and he knew it. He could hear the truck approaching while I wiped and was straining to get away, wrestling against the wipes...hey, he had places to be. But, phew we made it.

After poop incident though, Thursday got even more super. We voted! Collin participated in his first real election. He mailed the real, actual ballots for both Mommy and Daddy. And, since Mommy and Daddy both voted for the same guy, I didn't have to throw Daddy's away instead to make sure only the important one counted :) Hee Hee. He got to wear Mommy's "I voted" today sticker all day, which left a lovely clean white circle underneath it after he played at the park and promptly got completely filthy surrounding every other square inch of himself. I keep trying to tell him that Mommy's vote was more special than Daddy's though because Mommy stayed registered in Ohio and Ohio is still a swing state but he pretty much knows Mommy's his special gal anyway, why rub it in?

Liar, Liar!

Collin had another major first today...a milestone really, his first fib. I'm curious as to whether or not that is one of those things that I etch in gold lettering in the baby book or if I pretend it didn't happen because my sweet boy would never do such a thing. I mean look at that innocent, sweet and joyous face...who could believe he'd ever commit such a crime!

For a kid who can't talk, lying is a feat in itself, I think...and I'm concerned that it means that he's headed down a slippery slope. What's next? Complete sociopath? If he becomes a criminal, I'll at least insist on a prison tattoo of "Mom" in a heart on his bicep.

Here's what happened. I caught him dragging the remains of a battered--just kidding, nothing that bad. He told me "poo-poo," and pointed to the bathroom. Since we've been practicing just sitting on our potty, nothing else, just sitting and saying the word poo-poo, I thought, hooray! I asked him if he wanted to sit on his potty and if he had to go poo-poo. We're really working on cementing the idea that bathroom equals poo-poo right now, not so much that he has to do anything about it. I don't think he's ready. But, whatever.

Anyway, he shook his little head yes and dragged me to the door, which was closed. So, little me thought that we were making a breakthrough, that super hooray, he was making the connection, that maybe, just maybe, he'd make his poo-poo in the room where we are supposed to do it. Getting a little ahead of myself, maybe eons, years, decades, I imagined the possibility of cleaning up a little turd out of the potty instead of the diaper that he would imminently fill this afternoon.

No such luck, the minute I opened the bathroom door, he reached for the story we'd left behind a little while earlier, picked it up, turned on his heels and left the bathroom behind. When asked if he had to go poo-poo at all, he shook his head no. Apparently, it was all a ploy to get his story. Grrrr.

He may not know that poo-poo goes in the bathroom but he knows how to be a little s-h-i-t already...okay, too harsh. He knows how to act like one on occasion. He's still my little angel. I was just taken aback by it. His first lie! I'm pretty sure he doesn't know he did it and he probably just knows the bathroom is the poo-poo room and the wanted in there, but still, it seemed like a lie and that's the story I'm sticking to.

Aunt Robyn Wins the Day

I would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that yes, Aunt Robyn did of course, graduate too. That was the point of the trip, right? And, she was a distinguished graduate no less. For anyone who has been within shouting distance of the McClain family for more than ten minutes, you would have expected no less of our dear Robyn because if there is a top slot in anything, she's sure to get it. We could not be more proud of her and we're super happy and have to tell the world...see! (ignore the weird bump in my skirt that makes me look like I should be hiding something with a Trapper Keeper)

And, Aunt Robyn made everyone misty and teary-eyed by giving Bryon her wings. Well, not her wings exactly. But apparently, there is a tradition by which it's bad luck for the pilot to wear their first set of wings, so they break them in half, thus rendering them unwearable. They are supposed to keep half for themselves and give the other half to someone important in their lives, making sure to keep the two halve separate. The two halves are only to meet again when the pilot dies, at which time they meet at the pilot's final resting place, where they will help the pilot soar in the afterlife. Well, the half they give away is supposed to go to someone that has helped them soar now, right?

It seemed a no-brainer to me...she'd give them to J, her hubby. Nope, she gave them to Bryon! Jeesh. What a moment. We all melted. And, she even made a beautiful shadowbox for him to keep them in. It's got a picture of his little sister looking all tough and brave in front of her plane and a plaque with her name and the date on it and a little blurb about the wing breaking story. It's so gorgeous and sweet, I don't think there's a wonderful enough place that we can hang it in our house. Maybe in the White House? Can you tell that we're proud of her?

Collin decided that he was pretty proud and excited too. He wants nothing more than to be a pilot just like Aunt Robyn and Uncle J...or to just sign "airplane," the rest of his life, because they fly "up high," which he can actually say aloud.