Jen and I just got back from Hawaii. We had a blast! Jen ran in the Honolulu Marathon. She ran to raise money for the American Stroke Assosiation. She ran the marathon in 6 hours, 35 minutes. Quite an accomplishment! Congratulations Jen!
Liam is becoming more and more verbal and it’s so much fun to be a part of. It seems like every day he’s spouting off with more and more words in his repertoire. Just last night I told him to tell momma “more juice please” and he ran into the kitchen “Momma, more juice please.” Of course, when he said it it was more like “Momma, mow juss peese” and even that really doesn’t do justice to how cute he sounds when he talks.
My favorite thing that he says is “sloppy joe” because it sounds like “soppa doe” and it just cracks me up every time. This morning Jen drove me to the train station and in the car I was trying to get him to say “uh oh, sloppy joe” but he had seen a school bus and all he could say was “big bus” “big bus” and he said it a good dozen or so times. Then, a few minutes later as we were turing into the train station out pops “uh oh soppa doe” for no apparent reason. I thought it was hysterical. I think maybe Jen is tired of hearing “soppa doe.”
He’s at that stage where we won’t think he’s listening and the next thing we hear is him repeating something we just said. It’s so much fun to see him growing and learning and trying new words. I was putting some clothes away the other night and he pointed to a hanger that was lying on the bed and he chattered something, so I said “that’s a hanger.” He tried to say it but it came out “hobber” or “hodder”. I kept saying “hanger” and he would repeat “hodder.” Finally I got down on his level and over enunciated “h a n g e r” stressing the ng and he got it! “Hanger” he said, but with just a little too much stress on the g.
One thing we try to do is, instead of telling him no and correcting him when he mispronounces a word, we just repeat the word with the correct pronunciation. Usually he will keep trying until he gets it right.
No, the house did not burn down. Liam did not get hold of a box of matches. What Liam did do was say “Fire.” Pretty exciting, eh. It’s not his first word, not by far. He’s actually at a stage where he repeats words that he hears all the time. (I’ve been trying to get his mom to clean up her language) The exciting thing is that he said “fire” very clearly and concisely. I was telling Jen a story about a fire I had seen along side a road not far from our house. As I was telling her about the fire, Liam suddenly popped out with “fire.” It was so clear and perfect, no rounding of the ‘r’ at all. We looked at each other, Jen and I, and just started laughing. That of course spurred Liam on to say “fire” several more times. So we took him to the nursery at church saying “fire, fire.” Luckily he did not cause a panic and get us into trouble. Since then he has not been quite so eager to show off his enunciation, which is good from a public safety point of view but discouraging for a proud parent.
It started out simply enough: I love my son and I like to give him kisses (smoochies) when he goes to bed or when I leave him. So at a very early age I could say “Give daddy a smoochie,” and he would turn his head toward me, lips offered up for kissing, no pucker. That’s how it started. Simple.
Along with kisses, however, naturally comes hugs. So it wasn’t very long before “big hugs” was added to the night time ritual. I say “Can I get big hugs?” and he will lay his head on my shoulder for about two seconds, sometimes three if I’m lucky.
At one time Liam liked to hit us. It wasn’t in anger, it seemed to be more of a way to release built up emotion. Most of the time he was happy when he would let loose with a wild smack. So we taught him “nice touches.” When he would hit, we would take his hand and put it to our face, where the smack had just landed, and we’d tell him “nice touches, buddy.” For awhile he would smack, say “no, no” and then do the gentle touch immediately afterward. Now all we have to do is ask for “nice touches” and he will gently stroke our cheek. I somehow incorporated this into the goodnight/goodbye routine.
The most recent addition to our ritual is the ever popular “head-butt.” He, for some strange reason, has always enjoyed bonking his head into mine when we rough house. So a couple of weeks ago we bonked heads, on purpose, and I said, “that’s a head-butt.” Then I bonked him again and said “head-butt.” Then I just said, “head-butt” without bonking him and he bonked me. A tradition was born.
Liam is not and never has been a very cuddly child; he doesn’t sit still long enough to be cuddly, unless he’s not feeling well. And when he’s hurt, he doesn’t much care for coddling or comfort. When we put him to bed, we don’t get to hold him or rock him or anything. The minute you’re in his bedroom and the light goes off, he’s leaning toward his crib saying, “night night.” The routine came about as a way to get him to stay in my arms long enough for me to vent all my daddy lovey dovey feelings onto him. So each night I go through the whole routine, sometimes twice, sometimes until he’s tired of it. “Give daddy smoochies.” “Big hugs.” “Can I have nice touches?” “Give daddy a head-butt.” And he obediently performs each part of the ritual, leaning toward the crib and saying “night night” between each part.
I wonder what silly act will become part of our routine next.
This is one of Liam’s latest favorite things to do – and no, it’s not what you’re thinking. He has discovered that grabbing my finger and pulling will entice me to follow him more or less anywhere he goes. When he first discovered this novelty, he would grab my finger and pull me around the house with no clear destination in mind. He would walk a little ways, stop, look around, turn and head back the way we had just came from. Sometimes we’d end up in the kitchen, sometimes at the shelf where the videos are stored, and sometimes just in the middle of the room. It was all very cute and amusing. Then, one day, the game changed – in a couple of different ways. First, he always has a destination now, and it’s always the same: he invariably leads me to the door leading from the kitchen to the garage, where the dogs get to stay when it’s raining outside. Usually I just open the door and say, “Yup, there’s the garage,” then I close the door and he’s satisfied. The other change in the routine is that he no longer holds onto my finger for the entire trip, now he just pulls long enough to know that I’m following. If I stop, he comes back, grabs my finger and pulls until I follow, then he lets go again. Now he just expects me to follow him – he knows who the leader is, and who is the slave.
That’s right, I’m the uncrowned king of all the blog slackers. The sad thing is that I have such good intentions. I write posts in my head all the time, but then, by the time I get around to writing, the topic is no longer pertinent. I wish I could just get into the habit of writing a little something every day. I’ve never been good about keeping journals. The idea has always fascinated me, and I’ve started several, but it never seems to last. Either that or I write page after page of “nothing interesting happened today.” Pretty lame. I would promise here and now to be more diligent, but I’ve promised that very thing a number of times and chances are you wouldn’t believe me at this point.
Liam has started saying “Thank you.” When he says it, it sounds like “too too” or “tee too.” He pretty much only says it when you tell him to. He’ll want something and I will, of course, give it to him, then I’ll say, “say ‘thank you’” and he says his “tee too,” and toddles off to find something to get into.
He’s very curious. I call him Captain Curious, or Mr. Mischievous. If he can see it and it’s within his reach, he’s going to get it: remote controls, books, keys, glasses, cans of soda, anything within any zippered or snapped compartment, his/your/anyone’s shoes/socks, videos, CDs, food, yes… everything. If we tell him no he can’t have a certain thing, he gets mad and either cries or throws the item in question, often times both.
It’s been a struggle trying to get him to stop throwing things when he’s angry. Slapping his hand does absolutely no good, smacking his bottom gets more of a reaction but I’m not convinced he knows why. Someone recently suggested ignoring the unwanted behavior, so I guess we’re going to try that. The thing is, he needs to have some kind of outlet for his anger and I’m not sure how to redirect it or what to redirect it to. Suggestions are welcome.
Well, the holidays are past and a new year is upon us. After all the anticipation, shopping and general hoopla, it’s hard to believe it’s all over. For me, this was a very enjoyable Christmas/New Year holiday season. I got to spend time with my family and with Jennifer’s family and it was all just good quality family time. Liam was not too excited about opening gifts yet. He liked playing with the crinkled up wrapping paper after it had been torn off the gifts, and he likes the gifts he got, but he didn’t want much to do with the actual unwrapping. I’m sure that will be different next year.
No, this is not a movie review and has nothing to do with the recent film starring Billy Bob Thornton. This is about what happens when grumpy old men get fat, grow a beard and decide to take a job as a mall Santa.
We went to a local mall this past Saturday with my wife’s sister and her two boys, ages 8 and 12. First we went to a portrait studio to get a portrait of all the grandsons for Jen’s parents. That went well, actually. The ironic thing being that Liam was the most difficult for the photographer to work with, yet he was the only one who was smiling in every single picture.
Liam was fun at the mall. The kid is absolutely fearless. The second I’d set him down, he’d be off running, regardless of all the huge people he was walking in front of, causing them to jump out of the way to avoid him. He didn’t seem to be concerned about where his parents were, until he would enter a store and turn to see if I was still behind him, then when he saw me he would smile crazily and tear off into the store away from me. Anytime I would cut him off he would laugh and run the other way. In one store he went to check out some fuzzy slippers in the front window and I went into the mall to look in at him. He saw me and just started laughing. He touched the glass between us and I put my finger on the glass, too, and he put his finger to my finger and just laughed and laughed. He was cracking me up. I had to grab him by his overalls a couple of times to save him from certain trampling – he thought that was great fun too.
He sat on Santa’s lap and didn’t cry at all. He just looked at Santa with his expressionless stare. Santa played some patty cake with Liam’s hands and that got him to smile enough for the “elves” to snap a picture, which they promptly charged us $20 for.
My nephews did the Santa thing, too, though I’m not sure either of them believe in him anymore. When Santa asked what they wanted, they apparently said that they didn’t know, or they weren’t sure, something that shy, polite kids would say. Santa’s response was something along the lines of, “Well, you guys are pretty stupid aren’t you.” Santa is pretty lucky I didn’t find out he’d said that until later that day, or Santa may have been seeking reconstructive surgery for Christmas. I told Jen’s sister to complain to the mall management about it, hopefully she will and Santa will be replaced next year.
That’s right, I said “infections” – plural. The poor little guy had an infection in both ears. He had a pretty miserable weekend two weekends ago. I should say *we* had a miserable weekend. Liam started not feeling well Friday evening just before I got home. Both Friday night and Saturday night he didn’t sleep well at all: waking up every hour or so crying and just generally being miserable. Saturday night he slept in hour bed with us. I don’t think anyone actually slept, except maybe Jennifer, who, as I’ve mentioned before, could sleep through a train wreck. I however was kept awake much of the night by Liam’s tossing, turning, kicking and crying. I felt sorry for him, but I felt sorry for me too.
Sunday morning we took him with us to go cut down a Christmas tree. He was not a happy camper. We have pictures of him being held and just looking miserable. The pictures are very cute but sad at the same time. You can just tell that the poor guy doesn’t feel good at all.
Sunday afternoon, after we returned from tree hunting, Jen took him to Urgent Care and was told he has an infection in both ears. The doctor prescribed a 5 day regimen of Zithromax. We could tell he was feeling better, though still not 100% better, after just two days of the medicine. It’s been a week and he’s back to his normal, mischievous, smiling self.
Did you ever notice that when you’re late and in a hurry and you try to do the things you do every morning, but you try to do them a little bit faster, that you just end up taking even longer than usual? Dropping things, forgetting keys, knocking things off shelves. And the really bad thing is that it continues throughout the rest of the day. Maybe it’s just Mondays.