We're busy lately.

Mostly we are coated in play-doh, ketchup, finger paint or receipts from the pediatrician. It's a look.






Here we have Toby channeling Robert Smith. He's gifted, I tell you.

Potty Tower*

Toby still shows no interest in toilet training. He's 37 months (3 human years) old.

Today I could tell he was in process and offered to take him to the toilet. Mom and dad were visiting so he declined on the grounds that he "Wanna play." I pressed a bit, telling him all sorts of people like Grandpa and Daddy do that on the toilet so they don't have to lay down in the middle of everything and have a diaper change.

He looked at me with this one very piercing look he has, not angry but startlingly focused and quietly but firmly said, "I know that they do," in a tone that informed me in no uncertain terms that our conversation was over.

If he's going to sound like an older man it would be nice if he picked up just one or two of their habits.

*He calls the Potty Power video we got from the library "Potty Tower".

Don't we all...

Wish we could take a turn in somebody else's toys once in a great while?

If my head spins off...

... just give it a shove over this way, will you?

We are in the thick of Grandparent visit decompression. Toby misses the attention but doesn't know that's what is wrong, so he tries whining and being naughty to see if that helps. I imagine it does at times.

Poor little man. He's at that stage where if I said in a stern voice, "Toby, you have to eat that ice cream and then skip your nap so we can watch videos until your brains flow out your ears." He'd say, "Noooooo! I want candy canes!"

I don't have enough punctuation to show you the octaves that boy is reaching.

Pass the margaritas (and thank you, Grandparents who left the bottle here)!

And while I'm at it, can I just talk about nipples for a sec? I am seriously considering feeding Isaac from bottles for the rest of my sentence (March 24, March 24, March 24...) because he is TEEEETHING. He's miserable, I'm jumpy and miserable, it's not pretty.

That is all. (Pray for all of our sensitive bits, will you?)

Jona(than) in the belly of the fish

Toby's Year-end Round-up

It's very odd, this sensation of being totally smitten and completely frustrated with somebody at the exact same moment.

He's so amazing, and funny. He'll repeat anything you say and we do like to use that for all it's worth, a la this (slight language warning).

He's also contrary right down to his marrow. Yesterday I told him out of the blue, "Sorry buddy, no more hugs today," and you and guess who got a big fat awesome running toddler cuddle pronto.

Today we had an eye appointment. Turns out they upped the scrip again, and if that doesn't fix the problem then it's surgery time. And you know what really bothered me most about this whole morning? The two tantrums and unmeasurable decibels of whining that went on in front of two opthamologists, one tech and two nurses. Is it wrong to be embarrassed by a toddler? Does it matter whether it's right or not? Can I send him to military school only on select days?

I think parenting makes you let go. Of ideas of yourself, of images of yourself as a parent, of your selfishness and self-centeredness and of your time and money. Maybe the difficulty with Toby lately lies in me.

Or maybe he's just incredibly clever and wants to find every last one of my buttons. He likes buttons. I hope I don't show him my frustration too often, and I'm pretty sure it's because he's generally mellow that his less-fine moments undo me so quickly. Man, am I happy to know about the concept of grace because I need a buttload right now.

He works off the script.

In line the other day to buy another vat of fat free milk from Costco, Toby was jabbering away and showing his red Hotwheel to anyone who glanced toward his perch in the seat of the cart. The couple behind us totally fell for it and started asking him about it.

Toby- Whheeeeels. It's got wheeeeeels on der.
Couple- Oh wow. That's a cool car.
Toby- Yuuuup. It's wwwwred.
Couple- So, how old are you?
Toby- Blank stare, kicking feet...
I show him how to put up two fingers and say "Two".
Toby- Holding up just his index, "Fffthrrrreeee!"

We are not ourselves.

We have joined the ranks of parents whose children are not contained by mere cribs. Did I already tell you we found a toddler bed without a stitch of pastel advertising on it? I can't remember through the lack of sleep haze...

In truth our guy has not tested us much at night, mostly because we are lazy and have pretty much Toby-proofed his room. We let him galavant unless it gets particularly raucous and then start taking away hotwheels or, in the direst of situations, the firetruck blanket.

In effect, he has quiet time in the afternoon from 2pm to whenever, and while we prefer him to sleep we'll take non-damaging letting off of steam. At night if we hear him past 9:30 (he goes in at 8pm) then we start making with the stern voices and removal of beloved objects.

Last night I realized with a laugh that outside his room there is a collection of confiscatia: a big blue toybox once use to climb to the windowsill and the changing table (ONCE!), an impressive pile of... well, here- take a look:

















And here are the miscreants in person. Isaac has just sneezed and is tipping backwards but don't worry, he missed the wall and didn't even cry. You would be a happy guy, too, if you got snacks at 2am and 6am. Someday he'll thank me for telling the internet all about his infantile habits.

Peepers

Toby's getting glasses. They are made of flexible blue plastic and have unfortunate round rims. When they come in, I'll take pictures of us wrestling him to the ground and applying them directly to his forehead.

I think my gear shifter is broken. Toby loves to play with that kind of thing- he probably got ahold of it at some point and wrenched it clean off. I am no longer able to adjust gracefully between the roles I fill at home and those in the musical world. I'm just kinda tense about both instead. But hey, I can still get around despite my higher mileage and at least I'm paid for.

Organize and simplify

I think Toby has caught the whole Live Simply (tm) Organize (tm) Declutter (tm) fad. He's got the bug. I often come around the corner to find a row of something, like this:
















Or this:
























He has his priorities straight. Keeps his grandparents close and his toys closer, even when running through their sprinkler.


















This is not to say he doesn't let loose every once in a while. I believe his exact words were:
I taked apart a sanwich! I would like another!!























Unfortunately for him, however, it is clear he shares our genes.
He can't hide his freak flag forever.

The Hoods are here!

Toby loves his hoodies. Not the hip shirts with hoods you see on all the young doods and petty criminals, no those I don't like because of the miniscule teeny wee chance he may catch it on something. You've seen The Incredibles?
Remember her rant re: capes? Nnnno hoods. Too dangerous, dahling.

Ennywho, the hoodies I mean are strawberries! Mount Hood STRAWBERRIES!! I can type it loud because he's sleeping, this human who once burst into tears of longing when we drove past a large strawberry billboard. As you can imagine, we don't mind an obsession with healthy and affordable finger fruits but we still regularly spell rather than utter the word "berry" unless we have the goods to represent.

So today we bopped up to the library to pick up some books on hold (one on the creative disciplines and another on creative discipline. It's where we at.) and zipped over to the farmers market across the way. I am using fun verbs because actually we schlumped our sweaty cranky unpleasantly clinging way over there, wilted little pasty white family that we are. It's hotter than Wil Smith's abs here today. I am running the A/C with wanton fiduciary abandon. Whee.

So we picked up the 1/2 flat and tried to hoof it back to the air conditioned marvel of diesel sucking engineering in a manner that would get us there very quickly but would not cause my inner thighs to spontaneously combust. It's like the running-in-the-rain dilemna, but lamer. It's similar to that walk we all do when trying to score the next spot in a line without looking like a pushy jerk: casually, coincidentally, noncommittally swift.

I believe it was worth all the dehydration just to see the look on his red stained gob. I refrained from yelling, No no no, you don't just hork it down! But realized one animated movie reference per day is enough. Besides, they are sooo horkable.

Grumpy

Hummmm hum hum hummmmm.

So mostly around here we consider the "children's music" genre to be something like Siblings Day- (Did you miss it yesterday? Run out and buy some cards and stuff quick!) an artificial thing created to generate revenue for poorly crafted goods, that should be celebrated continually anyway.

I've rambled before about what we like to have on for the kids. But one guilty pleasure is to have Toby crawl into my lap when I'm on the laptop and ask for "the mujeek puhleez". I go to Noggin and we listen to a few annoying tunes.

Am I the only parent in America who doesn't care for Laurie Berkner? She seems sincere enough and all but her songs are cloying and she's out of tune. Moose and Zee, the Noggin mascots, are similarly lacking in musical quality but the music is not quite as over-perkified. I can deal with a couple of their tunes before closing the browser and telling Toby we're all done.

On a side note, I do like Lisa Loeb and wish she'd write and perform more stuff- Noggin should have put her stuff up all over. Apparently she's got a new cd, maybe they will now. I went to school with her talented blue-haired conductor brother, Ben. Nice guy.

Lately they have a new (to me) guy on there, David Weinstone from New York. I dig a couple of his songs and find him to have some redeeming musical value. He plays some nice guitar and sings with enough character & clarity to catch a child's ears (Toby comes running like I've opened a pint of strawberries). What I like most is that he still sounds like he's doing what he wants, and not what he thinks will garner him a larger share of the minivan contingent's credit card debt.

Here's Grumpy, easily one of his catchiest tunes. It's probably his most annoying to most people, I suppose, but I like it.

Bonding begins with 99 cent die-cast metal.

Toby has taken upon himself the important task of educating Isaac about the deep importance of all things wheeled.


Isaac adores him already, and is very trusting. Plus, he likes the bouncer to bounce.


Toby's favorite pose as big brother.

Was that it?

Was that the longest I've gone without posting? I hope so.

So what's up with you, outside world?

In our little compound it's all about placating the insane and caring for the incapacitated. Two and a half is an interesting mental arena. Nine weeks of age can be summed up as a constant state of leakage. I can truly say it keeps me busy.

I'm in the fantastic dreams and daydreams stage of post-partumdom. I hated it last time, and this time it's even peachier. Most nights just as I'm falling asleep a short scene plays doubletime, something like the opening of CSI or House but it horrifically stars either one or both of my boys. I see what's coming usually and can stop it from playing out in my hormone-pickled brain, but still it's no fun. I'll be glad when whatever gland's going off gets itself stabilized.

Whew. Well, I've been asked to come outside and clean up the 'piders. One of life's deepest pleasures has to be having a toddler come take your hand to assist in a task or complete an adventure. Sometimes it's empty webs or flecks of dirt, sometimes there are actual arachnids involved when he mentions his beloved bugs, so I better go see.

Snapshot (snapshot not included)

Tonight J went for a long bike ride. It's beautiful here, mid seventies and the air feels luscious. I noticed it because it's spring, but soon I'll be taking the lusciousness for granted.

So off he pedaled with my blessing.

And what did I decide, with the day drawing to a close and the boys appropriately groggy from a day well-played? What else, but that it was time to cut Toby's hippie shag hair.

I had it all worked out in my mind, but what it became was not so tidy. At the height of the makeover, Toby's golden mane was flecked with blood from my overzealous index finger and he was steadfastly picking hair off his icee while Cars blared from the TV. Isaac was fully involved in one of his best cries yet- and that's saying something- while strapped into the inexorable baby swing. I realized as he lost it that a swing is nothing but a brightly colored automaton. I hate automatons. Gah.

So upstairs we all went, in two trips, to wash off the hair and blood and high fructose corn syrup. Toby enjoyed his bath at least as much as any other and is growing impervious to his brother's protests. I bounced the one with my foot while pajama-ing the other, prayed through increasing fussing and went through our blanket ritual despite full-tilt cryage from the newby.

I thought if someone could see nothing but my silhouette in those moments, I would look like a clown spinning a hoop on my foot while creating a whole balloon zoo with my hands. There would even be what looked like acrobatics thrown in from time to time as I reach for whatever is constantly not there- the wipes, the desitin, my martini.

So that was my evening. J returned glorious and sweaty just as the laundry began its hairy spin and the vacuum finished gagging on the remains of the Farrah Faucet tribute that Toby once maintained.

And he made me a real martini. It's right here, just inches from my hand, and everyone under 3 is asleep.

Time for some wild hot....zzzzz.

After an absence from blogging, it seems a post of some depth would be required. Too bad!

We are honestly having a great time with Isaac. He is so beautiful, I can and do stare at him literally for hours.

Toby has been very casual about the whole thing. At the hospital he was enamored of J's banana muffin and could have cared less that a new wee sheriff was in the room. For the first two days after we came home, he ran around like his pants were on fire in a spot-on imitation of tired-hungry-hyper Toby. After that he's been his two year-old self. He actually offered Isaac his blanket once or twice. This is the Toby equivalent of the shirt off his back, so we were impressed.

We have so much help it's almost embarrassing. Mom and Dad are Toby's playmate slaves of choice and they also do a mean job pampering us with beer & sherbert-stocked fridges and same-day laundry service. I think we'll have a bunch more kids just to score the sweet set-up. But J can be the pregnant one this time.

I'm too lazy to get my USB chord and camera to post any more pictures... but wait! My phone is by my foot, and I think I might have something cute in there somewhere... yep:

Zoot!

Toby's old enough now to actually notice and enjoy the animals. In the last pic he's demonstrating his look of deep concentration. Wonder how he'll look at his brother for the first time... and when- WHEN?! WHENNNNN???!!!

XOXOXOXOXOXO

I'm feeling gushy! Schmaltzy, sentimental, full of good cheer. Here, have a pic from last Easter. It has been a lovely Valentine's, and my man isn't even home from work just yet.

Toby gave his first spontaneous hug to anyone in his age bracket today. His girl Audrey (an older woman at 2 3/4) walked in and he pretty much chased her around hugging her and looking deeply into her eyes for several minutes. She played hard to get, but I can tell she digs him.

He also put his hand on my cheek and called me pretty while I was writing this post. He's never done anything like that before, either. My men are goooood, people. The bigger one sent me Valentines tulips!

Here, have another heart-stopping recipe from last night's double fondue date with my parents!
Grown-up Creamsicle Fondue

1 package vanilla chips
A splash (maybe 1/4 cup) milk or heavy cream
Grand Marnier to taste (we doubled the recipe and used one of those airline-sized bottles, about 4 tbsp)

Melt the chips with the cream, either in the microwave in 20 second intervals or in a fondue pot while stirring constantly. Add orange liquor once smooth and melty.

Give your loved ones some banana hunks, pieces of pineapple, strawberries and pulled-apart chunks of angel food cake to dip. Since we'd already done a big fondue dinner, we gave everybody their own little bowl of the good stuff instead of all dipping in the fondue pot again.

In addition to being Valentine's day, did you know it's Oregon's birthday? She'll be 150 next year.

Here's to you, my friends, family and occasional random blog readers. Hope you and yours are enjoying the day!

LLLLLLLLLet's gggggoooooooo....

I seem to be slowing down at everything lately, blogging included. I miss coming up with thoughts and commentary on a regular basis, but it seems every time I turn around it's 3 or 4 days later.

Toby and I went for a long walk today over on 23rd and Lovejoy, a popular Portland area. I think it used to be all artsy and eclectic, but now there are at least three Starbucks and several other chain restaurants in the mix. Not that we mind that- in fact the kiddo and I shared a muffin and some quality car-on-table-top noisemaking time in one of them.

A few doors down from S'bux there is a super cool store called Hello Portland. If we were throwing away money, I'd pick up a bunch of the plate sets and stuff they have for kids. We don't last long browsing while Toby grabs at trendy and breakable nicknacks, but still it's a neat little place.

It's hard to be patient with Toby. He's generally a really compliant, curious, energetic guy, but he also weighs 31 pounds and is almost as stubborn as J. Not even close to my level of obstinence, but he may just get there... I'm kind of relieved that at just a hair past two years old he probably won't remember Pregnant Mama.

Today was a beautiful 55 degrees and sunny, and I tried to focus on just letting him walk at his own pace and explore (mostly) whatever he wanted. Alas, there were still moments where I wished we could put him on wheels and pull him around. I'm thinking something along the lines of a human-powered sidecar. J's suggestion is to find a stout harness with metal hardware and mountain climbing ropes, to be attached at the parent's waist. All those people who snicker at Toby's beloved stuffed dog-shaped backpack harness leash doohicky would really have a field day with that, but then they don't have to worry about him careening into traffic or picking up smoldering cigarette butts or getting squashed by a homeless guy's shopping cart, or.. or... I could go on all day with these. Must be the pregnancy hormones.

Happy Birthday to Toby!

Yesterday Toby turned two.

He's quite the kiddo, and becoming more him week by week. Right now his funniest habits are:
1. saying No to almost any question, and following up with an extremely serious, slow and prolongued head-shaking,
2. repeating any random words that catch his interest
and 3. acting out anything sharp-hot-dangerous by saying "No Touch, Sharp, heh-huh-heh-huh" with that last thing being him breathing in and out dramatically. It almost sounds like a donkey braying softly. I know what you're all thinking and yes, he must get all his drama from his daddy.

I made a ridiculous train cake with a poured sugar lake and cupcakes on the side. It was a hoot, and I would totally do it again.







Toby is so incredibly set for trains and train accessories. The grandparents on both sides provided an insane amount of toys and the table for him. Setting it up and unveiling it was the most fun I've ever had giving a gift, and it wasn't even technically from me.