"Don't Eat That!" is my new mantra

Stuff my son has eaten recently: 

• Play-doh
• Dog food
• Cat food
• Paper
• Half of a playing card
• Stickers (undetermined number)
• Kleenex (unused)
• Napkins (at a restaurant)
• The corner of a board book
• A little yellow flower from the yard

Stuff my son has stuck in his mouth recently:

• Every damn rock we see
• My deodorant
• Golf balls (plastic)
• Dog toys
• Books
• My pants (while I'm wearing them)
• My shirt sleeve (while I'm wearing it)
• My hair
• The dog's ear
• Various and sundry stuffed animal bits
• Socks
• Coins of every denomination.  I'm pretty sure he even tried to eat a Mexican peso the other day.

Stuff my son has licked* recently:

• Every floor he sees regularly
• Most flat surfaces in our home
• Several flat surfaces in other peoples' homes
• Random restaurant tables
• Windows
• Doors
• Multiple televisions (not all ours)
• Random furniture
• People's legs
• My feet
• My cell phone
• My laptop
• The couch
• Lots of rocks
• The sidewalk
• The playground equipment
• My pillow
• The baby gate
• The soap dispenser in the bathroom
• The outside of the peanut butter jar

Stuff my child has refused to eat/stick in his mouth recently:

• Crackers
• Cereal
• Chicken
• Rice
• Sweet potatoes
• Milk
• Green beans
• Bread (though, he did lick the peanut butter off of it. . .)
• Beans
• Macaroni
• Pancakes
• Apples
• Various other actual foods that would provide him sustenance. 

<Sigh>


*Seriously?  Who goes around licking things?  Weirdo. :)

Tired

I am exhausted.  So, the post for today will suck.

This is because yesterday, I:

• took Miles to the children's farm with friends
• cleaned the living room
• vacuumed
• did a pile of laundry
• chased Miles around the living room trying to keep him from destroying everything I had just cleaned
• cleaned the kitchen
• took Miles off the dining room table where he had climbed and gotten stuck [repeat x 10]
• made stuffed peppers for dinner
• had friends over to share the peppers
• walked to Dairy Queen
• had a lovely conversation on the patio while we ate our ice cream
• chased Miles around the patio to keep him from darting out into traffic
• walked home
• chatted for a few moments with the roomie
• stared blankly at the computer for awhile, trying to think of something witty to write
• gave up and went to bed.

The end.  Have a good day.  May it be a tad less busy than yesterday.

Tuuuuck.

So, yesterday, Miles and I went to Target to pick out a birthday present for Daddy from Miles.  Given Miles' complete hatred of most shopping excursions, I have to admit that I was expecting the worst.  I had no idea what I was in for.

We were without a cart.  For some reason, Miles has decided that the primary use of a shopping cart is to dive out of it.  Several times, I have managed to somehow catch my son mere seconds before he crashes into the floor.  Somehow, motherhood has turned me into some sort of disaster-sensing ninja with lightning-fast reflexes.  Highly useful, considering my child seems determined to bash his head on . . . well, any and every hard surface in sight.  In any case, I've found that, as long as we're not in a hurry to get anywhere particular, it's highly preferable to just allow Miles to walk.

There we were, meandering through the store, just the two of us: Miles darting off to look at the wall of TV's or display robot in the toy section, Mommy trying desperately to keep him from pulling all of the nicely-folded polos off of the racks.  Still, for the most part, it was a far calmer excursion than most.

Eventually, we had our items, and began making our way toward the checkout.  Halfway to the front of the store, Miles suddenly veered off into the women's clothing.  As soon as his feet touched carpet, though, he carefully laid down, then rolled over.  He flung a hand dramatically over his head, and said,

"I tuck."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him with an open mouth, thinking,  "Wha. . .?!?!?"  Laughter bubbled up and out, before I could stop it.  After a few seconds, I managed to ask, "You're what?"

"I tuuuuck," he repeated, drawing it out for maximum theatrical effect.

"You're stuck?" I guessed.

"Ess. I tuuuuuuuuuuuck."

I leaned over, and tried to pick him up.  Toddlers have this neat trick where they turn into really heavy, but really limp spaghetti; he did that, all the while pointing down, shaking his head, saying, "Uh uh! Uh uh!"  I put him back down.  He carefully, but dramatically, threw himself back to the floor.

"I tuck."

Not knowing what else to do, I walked a few steps away, out of his eyesight, but where I could still see his shoes.  Sure enough, he caught up to me a few seconds later, chattering on as though nothing had happened.  Twenty steps later, he fell to the floor again, this time in the middle of the main aisle.

"I tuck."

It took half an hour to travel the fifty feet or so to the registers.  I couldn't help but laugh.

The Juice Ritual

I honestly can't believe I haven't talked about this before now.  This is, by far, one of my favorite things that Patrick has ever taught Miles.

Miles has always been a very 'thirsty' kid.  He can suck down a cup of juice or milk in no time flat, and then asks for more.  He has been known to do this over and over and over and over and . . . well, you get the idea.  The problem is that my little toddler-man is really impatient.  It was getting to the point that every refill became a race to fill the cup and return it to Miles before he noticed.  It was a race I usually lost.  He ended up frustrated, which made me frustrated, which just led to all sorts of unhappiness.

Until one day when Patrick was home.  Rather than racing to finish the job, Patrick calmly sat down on the floor and allowed Miles to help.  What began as a simple task of holding the lids while we poured has turned into what we lovingly refer to as the Juice Ritual (even if it's done with milk).

We take the cup into the kitchen, and the parent sits on the floor and opens the refrigerator door.  Miles goes to the refrigerator, and pulls out the container for his choice of drink (either milk or juice - we keep them both on the bottom shelf).  Then, he closes the refrigerator door, and pops a squat across from the parent.  Parent will then loosen the lid on the container, and Miles will unscrew it.  Meanwhile, Parent removes the top from the cup.  Both lids are then placed in the loving care of Miles, while Parent pours the liquid.  Miles then returns the lids to their proper places, and works on screwing the top back onto the juice container while Parent closes the cup.  Parent re-opens the refrigerator, and Miles then picks up the container, and puts it back in the refrigerator and closes the door.  He is rewarded with a full cup, and a high five.  We, in turn, are rewarded with a notable lack of shrieking and a smile of pride on his tiny face.  And five minutes of relative peace until he finishes that cup. :)

He loves that fattening juice! :)

Who Knew Juice Would Be Such a Big Deal?

So, apparently, it had been too long since someone flat out told me I was a bad mother.

First, let me just state for the record that I should know better by now than to be entirely honest on the Mommy Forums (not my SAHM board, but others).  Someone asked the question, "What does your kid drink?"

I responded that he drinks a ton of juice, because he won't touch water.

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.  I was e-reamed by a bunch of women I've never even met, and who obviously don't know anything about me.  "Juice is as bad as soda!" one mommy wrote.  "Is this for real?" wrote another.  One flat out told me that I was ruining my child by giving him so much juice - and the AAP would back her up.

Okay, let's step back a moment.  I've done my research.  I know that the AAP is now recommending lower consumption of juice in children.  But I also know that they're doing that for two reasons: 1) the high sugar content of most juices, and 2) childhood obesity.  The sugar, frankly, doesn't bother me.  Sugar, in and of itself, is not necessarily a bad thing.  I brush his teeth.  And if I have a bouncy toddler all afternoon, that's my business.  As for the childhood obesity, all I can say is: have you seen my kid?  The poor kid is always struggling to keep his pants up.  He could stand to gain a little weight.  Childhood obesity is on the bottom of my list of worries.

And besides, other than the juice (heck, including the juice), this kid eats healthier than I ever did.  He eats a balanced diet of carbs and proteins, fruits and vegetables.  So if he wants a little juice to drink with it, so be it.  And no one but no one is going to tell me I am a Bad Mommy for this one.

Although, I may or may not have told the ladies on that forum board to 'shove it'.  So, if that type of language makes me a Bad Mommy, I'll take it. :)

Dip!

No, I'm not calling you names, I promise. :)

Two months ago, Miles would eat anything we put in front of him.  Especially if Mommy or Daddy had a bite first.  Now?  Not so much.  He eats bananas like they're going out of style, and he'll still eat just about any variety of bread, but getting him to eat much of anything else has been a struggle.

Until we discovered the power of dip.

This kid will eat anything that he can dip in anything.  Chips and salsa?  Devoured.  Pretzels and marinara sauce?  Inhaled.  Crackers and warm peanut butter?  Demolished.  He especially like the last one.  So much, in fact, that I had to give him more crackers three different times.  He ate way more than I expected.  It was a little messy, but this kid?  He can even make messy look cute.  See?

Oh, and look, he wants to give you a hug.  Don't you just want a big peanut-buttery hug? :)

Cookies

With Miles' incredible delight in making his own toast, I decided to try some other cooking tasks with him.  I probably should have started with snack mix or something, but silly me, I went straight for the cookies.

Monday morning, during Miles' first nap, I got out all of the ingredients, and set them out on the table with a bowl.  After lunch, we set to work.  I would measure out the ingredients, and Miles would dump them in to the bowl.  Then, I would measure the next ingredient, while Miles "stirred" the contents of the bowl with a big plastic spoon (this usually meant beating at its surface, but whatever).  When everything was in the bowl, we put the bowl into the stand mixer, and turned it on.  He watched it carefully, but didn't touch.  Eventually, we put it in the refrigerator to set.

Tuesday afternoon we set to cutting the dough into stars.  I would place the cookie cutter, and Miles would push it down.  He would do three or four, then get down and go play for awhile.  At the end of the day, we were rewarded with a full cookie jar. Mmmmm.

Toast!

My son is a genius.

No, really, I have proof this time.

Yesterday morning, when we came downstairs, I asked if he wanted some breakfast.  He made a funny noise that started and ended with T, and had a raspberry in the middle, somehow.  Luckily, I am well-trained in Toddlerese, and I know that this translates to, "Toast".

As I was getting the bread, Miles was busy climbing onto a chair that I had pushed into the corner of the kitchen - conveniently enough, directly in front of our toaster oven.  He pulled the toaster oven toward him, and opened the door.  I gave him a piece of bread, and he laid it gently in the center of the rack, closed the toaster, and tried to turn the knob.  Unfortunately, it's a little awkward, so he couldn't quite manage.  Ever the genius, however, he simply looked at me and signed, "help, please" and pointed at it.  I turned the knob, and he watched as the heating element grew more and more orange, and said, "Ha!" (Translation: "Hot!")

In an effort to distract him from trying to open the toaster oven door too soon, I asked if he wanted milk.  My distraction worked, and he held the lid to his cup and the milk carton while I poured, then placed each lid on its proper container.  By the time I had put the milk away, the toaster dinged.  Miles pointed, then jerked his hand back and said, "Ha! Osh!" [Translation: "Hot! Ouch!" - the exact words I use when warning him away from the stove while I'm cooking.]

I pulled the 'ha' toast out and put it on a plate, then helped Miles down from his perch.  He immediately began grunting and pointing at the plate.  "Do you want to carry it?" I asked, figuring that at worst, he'd be picking up a solid piece of toast from the un-vacuumed carpet and eating it anyway.  No big.*  (I promise,  it wasn't hot by the time I handed it to him.  I'm not that Bad of a Mommy).

Surprisingly, he carried the toast-laden plate all the way to the table without spilling it.  He sat it down, held the toast triumphantly over his head, and then savagely tore into it, with all the pride of a chef eating his first successfully produced meal.  A few short moments later, he was asking to help with seconds.  Which he also consumed with vigor.

He also had toast for lunch.  And dinner.  And he made a piece for Daddy when he got home from work.  I think toast is going to be very popular around here for the next few days. :)

*Bad mommy, remember?

Lactose-Free

I'm sure you all remember my rant regarding the last doctor visit, no? If not, please refresh your memory here, because there's nothing like crazy to start your day. :)

After much agonizing and raving like a lunatic to anyone who would listen, I finally pulled myself together, thought it through, and decided on a plan of action. Starting this past Monday, we have put Miles on a strictly lactose-free diet. I am recording every item of food that goes into his mouth, along with his sleep patterns, behavior, and of course . . . diaper contents.

I won't go into the disgusting details, but suffice it to say that my biggest concern is that I can count on one hand the number of . . . solid stinky diapers Miles has had in his entire life. For thirteen months, now, every dirty diaper has been . . . loose, to put it mildly. I could explain it better,* but I think you get the idea.

So, I'm keeping a record. And I'm finding that it keeps me very cognizant of what I am allowing him to consume.

For instance, I realized on Monday evening that every single meal and snack included a generous helping of fruit. Not an altogether terrible thing, granted, but it showed me that he got far more fruit than he did vegetables, proteins, or even grains - his favorite food group, by far. Which meant that I was more careful about balancing his meals today. Now, that's not to say that I went crazy and changed his diet entirely - that would bias the data I am taking regarding his reactions to dairy. But I did think through every decision I made about his food intake yesterday, something I haven't done in months.**

And regardless of what this little study finds, it is, at the very least, encouraging me to think a bit more about what I feed my kid. So, even if I find that my instincts are wrong, and he really doesn't have an issue with dairy, I will still have learned something that will help me to better care for my son. Because, at the end of the day, that's the best I can do.

For the record, though, 48 hours into the study, and things have already solidified, if you get my meaning. I can't say this is necessarily a permanent result, but . . .

Perhaps my motherly instincts weren't so far off after all . . . :)

*In fact, I've found I have quite the knack for describing the contents of Miles' diapers, much to Patrick's chagrin . . .

**I know, I know, I'm a Bad Mommy. Why are you surprised?

Bad Mommy

I know how much you love my Bad Mommy stories, so here's another.

I feed my kid lemons. No really. He loves them. See:

He's hysterical, because he'll take a slice of lemon and go to town devouring it. Inevitably, though, this face comes out:

I know, I know. I'm a terrible mother. Call social services now.

I'll probably still be looking at this picture and giggling to myself. :)

Whirlwind Weekend Part 2

After the quick, but action-packed trip to Wichita, we found ourselves returning home very early Sunday morning (I think it was about 2:00 am when I finally found my bed). Because bright and early the next morning, we had Things to Do.

Patrick has family that lives out in Colorado - two aunts, an uncle, two cousins, and a Grandmother. One of the aunts has had a bit of a rough time over the past year. First, she lost her husband, rather suddenly. Then, within a matter of months, she found out that her company was closing down their Denver branch. She had the choice of losing her job, or transferring to one of several other branches around the country. However, transferring meant taking a pay cut, unless she moved here. So, she packed up 22 years worth of her life and moved to a new state.

Sunday, we spent the day helping Aunt Ninell move into her new apartment. Patrick's Aunt Gretchen and Uncle Mike had come along to help, and movers had been hired to do the heavy lifting, so much of the day was spent in unpacking and kibbitzing.*

Along the way, I was regaled with tales of Patrick as a child, screaming with his hands over his head when asked "How does Aunt Ninell sound in the car?" and stories of Patrick's father as a child, trying to kill his two sisters, as siblings are wont to do. I learned that Patrick's Grandpa Bud was actually named Walter, and that he had once been scared back to life by a vision of an ancestor when he'd had a heart attack. We talked of a cell phone for the elderly, which Patrick's Grandmother LaDean now wears around her neck, in case of emergency.

At the end of the day, we shared platters of barbequed meats, fried okra, baked beans, fried cheese, and sweet tea. We laughed as Miles nommed on pickles and sweet potato fries. We talked of family, Festival, and the fun of raising children. We got caught up on the latest family news, and told them of the latest happenings around here. And we laughed. A lot.

Finally, though, it came time to say our good-nights to Aunt Ninell, and our good-byes to Aunt Gretchen and Uncle Mike, as final kisses and hugs were given, and the baby was snuggled one last time. Invitations to visit were exchanged, and tentative plans were made. And we went our separate ways, filled with memories of a lovely day shared with delightful family.

*Two things that I'm told are essential for moving. :)

Adventures in Solid Foods

Miles is lovin' his 'big boy' food. We started out with just oatmeal, and he was having fun, but it was obvious that he could take it or leave it. Then, we tried green beans, and he LOVED them. We tried mashed bananas, and he HATED them. So, we went back to oatmeal for a couple of days.

And then, I discovered the sweet potatoes I had bought. This is just a glimpse of what ensued:

I think the video pretty much shows how he feels about those. :)

4 Month Check-Up

So, Miles had his big 4 month check-up at the doctor's office today. Our doctor and his nurse are both totally smitten with our smiling, laughing, active, attentive little man. Everything is normal, and he's progressing right on track.

As of today, my little boy is 14 lbs. 3oz. and 26 inches long! That means that in 4 months, he has gained 6lbs and 6.5 inches. I cannot believe how fast he is growing!

So, after we chatted with the Doc about rashes (just dry skin, no worries), solids (yay! he likes them!), and milestones (he's rolling both ways, and trying to sit unassisted), the Doc finished up his exam, and it was time for the dreaded shots. [Insert appropriately tense music here]*

Poor Miles. He never saw it coming. One minute, he's smiling and cooing at the nurse, who is totally melting over those oh-so-long eyelashes, and the next, he's screaming in agony and disbelief because that beautiful nurse has just stabbed him in the thigh - three times!

As soon as it was over, I picked him up and cuddled him, and shoved a bottle in his mouth. After a few seconds, the comforting yumminess of the the bottle outweighed the temporary discomfort of the shots. His cries ceased as he nommed away, and by the time we left, he was flirting with the receptionist.

That's my boy! :)

*It is one of life's greatest tragedies that my real life doesn't have a soundtrack like in the movies. I mean, think of how much easier it would be to make the right decisions. You start to open the door, thinking it's your friend. Cue scary music. You run and hide under your bed and call 911 instead. Horrible slasher-movie death scene avoided.**

**Unless it was really just that creepy guy who works for UPS. . . I think he would cue the scary music, too. . .

The Learning Curve

Miles manages to learn something new everyday.

Yesterday, he learned that sometimes, Daddy takes things apart (this time it was the dryer). He also learned that this process is fascinating. Even the third time in a row.* He just stood in his bouncer, watching as the dryer was deconstructed, and then reconstructed, bouncing at the exciting bits.**

Yesterday, he also learned that food can sometimes have texture. Rice cereal was a hysterical mess. We were smart enough to strip him down to his diaper, then realized that he couldn't sit up well enough to sit in the high chair. So, we pulled out the baby bathtub, and fed him there. The first two bites were promptly spit out in wild-raspberry fashion. (i.e. all over the place!) But, after that, he started to get the hang of it, and actually swallowed about 4-5 spoonfuls by the time he was done. Nevermind the fact that I had offered him probably 12-15 spoonfuls, most of which now covered him. It was bath time!

Except for one thing: in my smugness, I somehow hadn't connected the dots that he would need to be bathed in the bathtub after eating - which he was doing in his bathtub. Yeah, I now win the "Duh" award for the day. . .

So, Daddy got the glorious prize of being allowed to hold a sticky, yucky, cereal-covered little boy, while Mommy cleaned out the tub and filled it with water. No permanent physical damage resulted. Though, Patrick is still claiming long-term psychological scarring. . . :)

And in all of this, I learned something, too. Parenting is so much easier when Daddy is home. :)

*Our dryer is making funny noises, so Patrick took it apart, fixed what he thought was wrong, then had to put it all back together to see if he was right. He was the third time! :)

**Apparently, the front coming off was exciting, but not the removal of the drum. Strange child. . .