Wicked Callous

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Originally uploaded by knights_writes

Finally, we got a decent close-up shot of one of the wicked callouses on Arlo's beloved suckin' fingers. He has been sucking on these fingers since he was old enough to hold them in his mouth (4 months?), and they are as much a comfort as (and completely in cahoots with) Clean Turtle when it's time for a nap, or when he needs a little down time.

They'll go away when he outgrows the finger-sucking habit--and, in fact, they've probably already faded a bit as the habit has waned in recent months. But this is something I want to always remember about my little Arlo--something I want to stop and appreciate before I wake up one day and find out that he's all grown up, with callouses on his hands from yard work and such.

Get Behind the Mule

As Tom Waits says, "You gotta get behind the mule in the mornin' and plow." That's just what I did this morning, re-entering the workforce with as much grace and dignity as I could muster.

The drop-off was relatively painless. I tried to be quick about it, to rip the band-aid off, so to speak. When I left Tata's house, I left behind two happy little humans, which is about as good a situation as I could hope for. Well, truth be told, I actually left behind four happy little humans, if you count the Boelk twins (Carver and Kinnick, the matching bookends flanking Arlo in the photo above). Tata and Tato (her hubby, Pat) had the foresight to have a bunch of new toys on hand for the boys this morning, so Arlo was happy and distracted during the drop-off period, which gave me a few minutes to talk with Tata about Mae and her first big day--without him needing my attention.

As you can see, Mae's First Day at Tata's was a festive and happy affair, and I only shed a few crocodile tears before taking a deep breath and heading to the office. Amazingly enough, I made it to my desk by about 8:15, for which I gave myself a sound pat on the back.

Mae had a pretty good day, I suppose. She was happy as long as Tata was holding her (hmmm, sound familiar?) and pretty relaxed--but she wouldn't take milk from a bottle yet today. Ted has given her small amounts of expressed milk from a bottle, so we know she knows how to do it... guess she just has to get a little hungrier before she'll take it from a new person. Part of me feels good about that, actually. Arlo took to his bottle feedings so quickly as an infant (also with Tata, beginning at 8 weeks old) that as a new mom, I felt kind of slighted and insignificant. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want Macy's hunger strike to last more than a day or two, but it does make me feel important and special to have my baby (poor thing, though!) go all day without an ounce of milk because she'd just as soon wait for her mommy, thank you very much.

I hope I'm not tempting fate by saying so. I've had my moment, and now I hope that she will eat for Tata tomorrow. As for tonight, I'm thinking I'll be awake every two hours (or less) feeding her through the night. Stay tuned!

Just like mom

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Originally uploaded by knights_writes

Basically, I'm throwing this photo on the blog because I can't bear to have THAT post (see below) hanging out in the top spot on my page anymore. I don't have anything new to say today, and I don't have time anyway, what with getting ready for the trip to MN for Thanksgiving, and the fact that a sleeping baby never stays sleeping as long as you need her to.

Anyway, enjoy this shot of Arlo toting his Cabbage Patch Kid around in the Baby Bjorn carrier. CUTE!

incentive

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Originally uploaded by knights_writes

When Cindy visited Mae and me a few weeks ago, she said I should post a photo of Arlo's toilet on the blog. You can deduce that we used stickers as a reward for good potty behavior. And since (a) we'd be needing a new toilet seat pretty soon anyway and (b) they only cost, like, $12.99 at K-Mart, we figured it'd be appropriate (and fun for Arlo) to just stick 'em right on the pot.

Monkey

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Originally uploaded by knights_writes

I finally got a good shot of Arlo wearing the sock-monkey hat that Mara knitted for his third birthday (which was in September). It's the best hat, EVAR. I guess I'll have to snag the pattern from her if I want one of my own.

Halloweenies II

After trick-or-treating in the neighborhood, we drove over to Piers's house for a visit. Arlo was kind enough to share his costume with Piers, who had already shed his for bedtime. In fact, it looks like Arlo gave up every piece except for the pants, and the fire tie-dye shirt, added by moi.

Then they shared a hug. Sweet boys!

We arrived with a screaming baby (Mae did not appreciate the car ride, thank you very much), on whom Sandie apparently cast some sort of crazy sleep spell. Mae fell asleep as soon as we arrived at Joel & Sandie's (around 7:00), and kept right on snoozing until ONE A.M. One a.m., people! That's her longest sleep yet!

Next, Piers helped Arlo back into his full firefighter regalia for the drive home. Happy Haloween, y'all!

Halloweenies

Here's Arlo, dressed up in his firefighter costume, fresh out of the bag from Old Navy. Thank you, Old Navy! You would not believe how many people asked me if I made it. I, of course, said, "Yes, yes I did."


And here he is, with the added special effect of eyeliner (or "smoke," he says) on the cheeks and nose.
Here's Tata (Arlo's day care provider--soon to be Mae's also) goofing around outside with Isabella (a.k.a. Zuzu, or here, the cutest lil' Tootsie Roll EVAR).
Tootsie.

Mac & Cheese at Micky's

Mmmmmmmmmm, cheeeeeeeeeesy.

Awwwwwwwwwww...

The family bed was full again last night--Arlo between us in the middle of the bed, and Mae swaddled in the co-sleeper next to my side of the bed. Mae awoke just as the sun was coming up this morning, and I nursed her as I drifted in and out of a light sleep. Arlo stirred beside me, rolled over onto his back and rubbed his eyes. He squinted up at me and said, "What are you doing, Mom?"

(Yes, that was "Mom," and not "Mommy." Apparently this is part of the transformation into a big brother/big kid.)

"I'm feeding Macy," I said.

"She's hungry!" answered Arlo.

"Yep," I said, "but she's just about done now."

When Mae pulled away from my breast, I wrapped her up again in a blanket and laid her in the co-sleeper. Wanting to give Arlo some precious one-on-one attention and transition him smoothly from waking to breakfast, I turned to him and said, "Now let's get some breakfast! But first, I need a big hug from my big boy."

"I want a hug from my baby sister," he said.

Yay!

I was all too heppy to oblige. I picked Mae up and placed her in his open arms. He squeezed her just a little bit, and planted a big "mmmmmmmwahhhh!" kiss on her head.

"Now can we have oatmeal?"

Arlo Steps Up

 

Arlo continues to warm to the idea of being a big brother (his 3 a.m. tantrums notwithstanding), and this morning he finally held Macy for the first time! They were enjoying some interactive time--he was showing off the awesome fire engine he got from Piers for his birthday a few weeks back--and he planted a kiss on her head. (I, unfortunately missed this part, as I had stepped into the other room for a minute. But I did hear it, because Arlo's kisses are audible: "Mmmmmmmwahh!") I came rushing back with the camera, in time to catch Arlo asking if he could hold her. Here's one of the resulting shots.

Why, oh why, do I not have a high-speed connection at my house? I have so much more to share!

I have made arrangements to use a fast computer this afternoon to FINALLY post the rest of our latest photos to flickr. Stay tuned...

One Inch Shy

Arlo recently went to the doctor for his three-year-old check-up, and all were suitably impressed with his vigor and development. At 41 inches tall and weighing in at 36.8 pounds, he officially qualifies as a Big Kid. To be precise, he exceeds the 97th percentile in height, and the 90th percentile in weight. (I know, you can just see my chest swelling with pride, right?)

Anyway, this got me to thinking. Arlo is only one inch shy of the height requirement for just about any run-of-the-mill roller coaster.

I KNOW! IT'S CRAZY! But here it is, from the Adventureland web site: "Guests must be at least 42" tall to ride the G-Force, the Tornado, the Dragon, the Outlaw, Himalaya, or Falling Star, and 36" tall to ride the Raging River and the Frog Hopper."

Is a kid too young to handle a roller coaster at 3-and-a-half of 4 years old? Every time the Adventurelan commercial comes on the T.V. (honest to God, EVERY time), Arlo says, "THAT looks like fun!" and then also proceeds to make a "splassssssh" sound when they show the footage of the raft ride hitting the big splash at the bottom of a drop. He does, however, concede, "I need to get a little bigger first."

What do you think? Should we be including this in our plans for next summer?

Arlo: Inspired by Pillows

I've written here before about Arlo's imagination--specifically, even, flights of fancy inspired by heaps of blankets and pillows on the bed. Remember this?
Here are two more examples.

1: Over the weekend, Arlo grabbed a pillow from our bed, propped it up on top of his head, and went marching up and down the hallway, proclaiming to be an ant. Says he: "I've got a big piece of toast!"

2: Burrowing, head first, under the down comforter and assorted pillows on the bed--all sans linens due to the fact that it was laundry day, and therefore all shades of white--he shouts a muffled "I'm a snowplow!" from beneath a "snowdrift." This one, in particular, blew me away because of course he hasn't seen a snowplow in action in months.

Could this kid *BE* any cuter?

Exhibit A: Arlo found my lipstick.

Exhibit B: He also has cool new Vans, coveted by his mother.

A Growing Imagination

Over the past few days, Arlo has repeatedly impressed me with his emerging creativity and imagination:

• On Sunday, we had the down comforter and a big pile of pillows heaped on the floor of our bedroom, since I was stripping the sheets from the bed to wash them. Arlo had tunneled underneath, and as he emerged from the pile, he told me, "I'm cracking out of my egg!"
• Two nights ago, I walked into the dining room to find that he had very precisely lined up the following items: a yardstick, a toy dump truck, and a sippy cup. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, "I built a birdhouse!"
• Last night we had dinner at the Okoboji Grill with my dad. Arlo picked up a pair of coasters from the table, and began passing them through the slots of his ladderback chair. "Look, Mommy," he said, "I'm putting in some movies"--as if they were DVDs going into the player.

It's incredible to watch Arlo as he progresses from merely responding to stimuli to creating scenarios in his imagination--and making new and inventive connections across the different parts of his world. I'm amazed and surprised at the depth of his understanding sometimes.

I'm also amazed and suprised at his rate of physical growth these days. Over the weekend we marked another notch on the wall in his bedroom, where we've been tracking his height since he was about 18 months old. We had marked his latest height in mid-June, and I wouldn't have even thought to measure him again so soon--but he had the bathroom scale out, and was really interested in knowing his weight (35 lbs., holding steady for several months now) so I figured we might as well check his height too.

Between 6/13/07 and 7/22/07, my dear son has grown more than an inch. I made Ted double-check my measurements, and he confirmed. Amazing! And it's no wonder all of his shorts are falling off of him.

Odd Reward for Good Manners

Once upon a time, I gave Arlo a TUMS because he said his tummy hurt. Ever since then (and it's probably been 6 months), he has been obsessed with TUMS. At first, he used the tactic of claiming that he had a tummy ache as a ploy to get more TUMS. Pretty quickly, though, I figured out that when Arlo says, "My tummy hurts," he really means, "I want a piece of candy."

Still, I confess, I didn't see the harm in giving Arlo a TUMS. I mean, loads of people chew them every day as a calcium supplement--and Lord knows that I eat them like they're going out of style, now that I have entered the Heartburn Trimester of my pregnancy. And it's better than candy, right?

However. Faking illness to get a treat is not a habit I wish to promote in my son, so I explained to him that he should not tell Mommy that his tummy hurts unless it really does hurt. If he wants a TUMS, I explained, he should just ask for one.

I know. Y'all are probably aghast that I give my child over-the-counter antacid as a treat. Please, at least forgive the tastelessness of it by recognizing that I have cleared its safety with Arlo's doctor and with our friendly Walgreens pharmacist.

Also, I must tell you that TUMS is a very reliable form of currency in my household. Much like chewable vitamins (and really, it's not much different in substance either), they can be used to coax Arlo out of the bath tub on a stubborn evening, or it can put him in a chipper mood before breakfast, when he and Mom are both rather grumpy some days.

And you would not believe how good he has gotten at asking nicely.

The TUMS first helped him learn to say "please" reliably when he's making a request. Now I've taken it a step further.

Arlo will say to me, "I want a TUMS."

to which I reply, "Well, Arlo, how do you ask nicely for a TUMS?"

and now, instead of just saying, "Pleeeeeeeease," as was the first level of politeness training, he says, "Please may I have a TUMS?"

It's brilliant. And I never have to worry that Arlo might be calcium deficient.

We Love You, Clean Turtle!

I've not read the finslippy blog in several weeks--but I went there this afternoon and found this heart-wrenching story about little Henry and his lost "Minty Bear." Having a little son who is equally attached to a stuffed animal he has had since infancy (Turtle--perhaps you've met him?), I was just so touched by Alice's description of Minty Bear and Henry's relationship with her (incidentally, Arlo's Turtle is a "he")--not to mention her blisteringly accurate description of the smell of the beloved bear. I'm pretty sure you have to be a parent to understand how the scent of dried spit and toddler pee can be endearing, but trust me. It can.

We've had a couple of close calls this week. Arlo left Turtle on a bench at the Rec Center on Tuesday when we were there for swimming lessons . . . but we went back an hour or so later and found Turtle still sitting there. Last night, Turtle was nearly lost under a table in the restaurant where we ate. We searched and searched, and Ted retraced our steps back through the Farmer's Market to the car, returning empty-handed. Luckily, we didn't give up. Turtle had fallen behind a booth bench, against a wall--not the table where we were sitting. Whew!

How beautiful that Henry and Alice found a successor. I hope that Henry will grow to love New Minty as much as he did the original.

For our part, as soon as we realized that Turtle was going to be an important member of our family (Arlo was maybe six months old), I went right to the Web and Googled the info from Turtle's tag, finding and ordering an identical turtle, in case the worst should happen. For months, Arlo used the two Turtles interchangeably, but gradually--almost imperceptibly at first--he began to show a marked preference for one over the other. Naturally, his favorite is the grungier, more threadbare, and, of course, smellier of the two. This is, obviously, a situation that perpetuates itself.

The best part about it? He calls the stinky, worn, more deeply loved Turtle "Clean Turtle." Not because he actually thinks it's cleaner--but because he understands that clean is good, and dirty is bad, and he most certainly must refer to the preferred Turtle in the most positive terms available.

I hope to be able to follow up on this post by adding a photo of Clean Turtle and/or Arlo with Clean Turtle, as soon as I get a chance. In the mean time, here's a picture of what Turtle looked like when he was brand-new:

Happy Times

Good times this week! I won't complain about how having a holiday off in the middle of the week threw off everyone's rhythm and made us all a little crazy. Sometimes crazy is good. Believe me, if someone offered to let me have Wednesdays off for the rest of my life, I would not hesitate for one second.

We'd been talking up the fireworks thing for a couple of weeks with Arlo, because this year was his first fireworks show. I remember way back when (2001?) my sister's little boy, Michael, then three, experienced his first (I think) fireworks display, and he did not like it one bit. I remember Michael crying and holding his hands over his ears. But then, his mom and dad had just moved him overseas from Denmark to the States, and they'd only arrived (in Florida, in the insufferable July heat) the day before... so you can't call his reaction standard, necessarily. And you certainly couldn't blame him.

We weren't sure how our boy would react--but, true to Arlo form, he embraced the experience with rapt wonder, and general enthusiasm. He stayed up way past his bedtime, with the only noticeable (and possibly unrelated) effect being a temporary dip in his potty-training progress.

Even three days later, while we were driving in the car, he burst out with a spontaneous "BOOM! Crackle, crackle, crackle!" from the back seat. These were sounds we practiced in preparation for the big show, in my attempt to make him understand that it would be very noisy and FUN. Apparently it was a successful tactic.

Saturday was Mara & Rockne's annual Pig Roast--an event that seems to get better with each passing year. That's where the photo above was taken, by the hostess herself. Big fun! You can see more pics right here on Mara's flickr page.

Last week my regular obstetric visit to the doctor yielded a troublingly high blood sugar reading, so I had to go back to the lab on Friday for additional testing, to diagnose or rule out gestational diabetes. And by additional testing, I mean a grueling morning with no food except for a bottle of hell's own nectar (the glucose solution they make you drink on an empty stomach), and hourly blood draws for three hours. Did I mention I wasn't allowed to eat?

NOT EATING is my number-one least favorite thing to do in the morning.

All in all, it actually was not as miserable as I expected (if you ignore the fact that, after my morning at the lab, the car wouldn't start and I had to get it towed... but anyway). In fact, it ended up being a pretty tolerable morning involving a LOT of knitting, and catching up on some podcasts that I'd been saving for a rainy day.

The best part- I finally got the call from my doctor's office this morning, and I do NOT have gestational diabetes! Though it would have been completely manageable and temporary if I had been diagnosed (it goes away when the baby is born), I would have had to go on a very strict diet, and possibly deal with insulin injections and such. Not to mention worries about the baby's health, and the micromanagement of every morsel of food I would consider allowing to pass my lips.

But HA! Keep the ice cream coming, people. I dodged a bullet this time. Pass the brownies, please.

Summer Snip

I'm not sure how I feel about this. Amy, our stylist at Groovy Katz, did an awesome job on Arlo's haircut--it really looks great. But he looks so grown up! I decided to take him in for a shorter summer 'do because it's been so warm and he's such a sweaty little boy. I really just wanted him to be comfortable.

I think he looks pretty comfortable. I know these aren't the greatest photos (camera phone, naturally) and I did not have the forethought to take a "before" picture for the sake of comparison . . . but you get the idea. If you check out my flickr page (see link in left panel), you can see plenty of shots of Ye Olde Moptop, before Tuesday night's snip.

Arlo's pretty pleased with his new look. I've caught him admiring himself in the mirror more than once. But the Moptop will probably slowly re-emerge as the summer wears on. I don't think we'll be getting another substantial haircut until next spring. Sigh . . .

Thanks to the Marshalltown Fire Department

Arlo and I visited my folks in Marshalltown for Father's Day this weekend, since Ted is off fishing with his dad and brother in Canada. I've posted some photos from the weekend on my flickr page.

Sunday was a BIG day. Not only did Arlo get to ride his awesome new bike (his "cool bike," as he calls it) that lives at Grandpa's house, but he also got to go to Marshalltown's municipal aquatic complex (a.k.a. "big water park") AND was treated to a Taylor's Maid-Rite (with extra pickle, naturally) AND...

He got to "drive" a fire truck.

Actually... he got to get behind the wheel of TWO different fire trucks. We stopped at the Marshalltown fire station on the way home from Taylor's (where we had stopped on the way home from the water park), and paid a visit to the firefighters, who were all too happy to show Arlo around.

I think Arlo was a little uncertain as to why these fire trucks were yellow--because everyone knows that fire trucks are supposed to be red--but he handled it with remarkable grace and composure. In a fifteen-minute visit, he got to drive an old fire truck and a new one, and watch a Real Live Fireman slide down the brass pole. When he got back into his car seat to hit the road and head back to Iowa City, he had a fistful of stickers and a new coloring book, and he was fast asleep before we even reached city limits.

A big thanks goes out to the guys at the fire station in Marshalltown, who were warm and gracious hosts and who made us feel like visiting dignitaries rather than uninvited interlopers. Some time this summer, we'll try out the Iowa City fire station (with the RED trucks!) and we'll try to be proper guests by at least bringing along some muffins to share.

Gray Areas

So we were driving in the car the other night, listening to the Eels' "Daisies of the Galaxy" CD, and Ted and I got into a conversation regarding the gray areas of what language is acceptable for Arlo to hear when we're listening to music.

I brought up the topic because Arlo and I were both bopping our heads and digging the song "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues"--Arlo was even Waving His Hands in the Air Like He Just Don't Care--and why wouldn't we? It's got a great beat, a zippy summer kind of energy, and a wry sense of humor.

One of the things I like about it is precisely why Ted and I started talking about it. When the song first started, I said, "God, what a great song!" Then I remarked to Ted that I wondered if maybe I shouldn't play it with Arlo in the car. I said, "Just wait for the refrain, you'll hear what I'm talking about."

The lyric in question is: "Goddamn right, it's a beautiful day. (Uh-huh...)"

When Ted first heard it, he kind of shrugged and said "Eh. That's not so terrible." We listened for a few more minutes, and he said, "Hm, well, they do say it an awful lot..." and it's true, this phrase is repeated dozens of times throughout the song.

But it WAS a beautiful day.

I told Ted that I always skip over the song (from the same album) "It's a M*otherf*#!er," and I'm sure you can guess why. We both agree that it would be scandalous and WRONG and Totally Not Okay if the M.F. word should ever cross our son's innocent rosebud lips.

However. I think if Arlo turned to me one day and said, "Goddamn right, it's a beautfiul day," I might laugh--and agree with him. Then we might have to have some kind of conversation about how he can say that to me but NOT to any of his grandparents.

Am I too liberal?