Sweetsie Tweetsie

This past weekend we went to Tweetsie Railroad.  It's a Western themed kiddie theme park in Blowing Rock, NC.  We rode the train (upon which a tribe of Indians come aboard to help the Marshalls help stop a cowboy robbery--yes, it is very unPC, but also a blast for little cowpokes and Indian maidens).  And most of the amusement rides are for kids 48" tall and under.  Oh, and the best part, it was a complete surprise for Henry. 

His face when he saw the sign for Tweetsie Railroad...

 

Can you tell that they were both excited?  

 

Before we hopped on the train, we got ready for the shenanigans.  Gracie has been wearing her headdress everywhere.  And her doll?  She named Princess Wacka Wacka.  (We suggested the name Hiawatha.  Wacka Wacka is what we got...)

The train ride was a bit loud.  And it smelled of cap guns.  

With her hands on her ears, Grace kept saying, "It's scawy Daddy."  Of course, as soon as we got off the train, she was shouting, "It not scawy.  I love it!"  (This is also her reaction to spiders, flies, and the teppanyaki chefs at Kabuto.)

And of course, we rode the rides...

Towards the end of the day, I noticed my wallet was no longer in my purse.  We went to the lost and found and they radioed the places on the mountain we had been.  Nothing.  I was trying hard to not freak out.  Sloan was trying hard to lose it and yell at me.*  Mentally I was trying to discern everything that was in my wallet--credit cards, my license, an almost full punch card to Sweet Frog...

I decided to snag Henry and take the sky ride up the mountain to look myself in all of the places we went over the day.  As we scaled the mountain, I told Henry we needed to pray.  We needed to pray that I had merely lost my wallet and that someone had not stolen it from my purse.  And that God would find it.  So Henry and I began to pray and as soon as we had said Amen, we heard the crackle of a walkie talkie from a Tweetsie employee riding the sky ride down the mountain opposite us.  "Yes, I think we've found the wallet.  I'm sending it down."  I yelled at the man, "Hey, that's my wallet!"  

And so what had been a source of major trauma became a lesson to Henry and my own heart that indeed, God hears our prayers.

So we rode back down the hill and headed off for an impromptu visit with Sloan's brother at their house in Linville before we went to Tennessee for my great Aunt Margaret's birthday party on Sunday.     

And in case you needed a good laugh, I leave you with this video.  When I posted it to facebook, I gave it the following caption-- 

You'll notice 3 things in this video:
1. I will never win an Oscar for cinematography.
2. I don't like rides that spin multiple ways.
3. My husband never shuts up...

*Because Sloan rarely misplaces things and well, if it weren't for my neck, I'd lose my head.  These facts make the top 5 things I expect we will be fighting over for the next 50 years or so.  The fight usually goes something like this:  

Me:I didn't mean to lose it.  If I knew where I last had it, by definition, it wouldn't be lost.

Sloan: Well, how hard is it to keep up with your wallet?

Me: Apparently, pretty difficult.  Seeing as I don't know where mine is. 

Sloan: Are you even trying to be keep up with your things?

Me: (Insert intense sarcasm) No.  No, I am not.  And I don't expect to get any better at it anytime soon.  Aren't you glad I'm the one who stays home with the kids?

Sloan:  Can you honestly say you are doing your best?

Me:  Yes.  What are you my coach?

Sloan:  Coach?  What you need is a handler.

Me:  CAN YOU STOP MAKING FUN OF ME YOU GIANT JERK AND HELP ME FIND ME DAGGUM WALLET?

Earthquakes, Book stores, Crap storms, and Shia Lebeouf

Did I miss something?  Did someone see four horsemen and forget to tell me?  Surely I would've read something about them on FB if they showed up.  Right?

Yesterday, while G was napping, I took advantage of the rarity that is Sloan working from home.  Henry and I donned our swimsuits and cover-ups and ran one errand and then were off to the pool.  And since G was not in tow, we could go in the deep end and work on our strokes.  (By the way, Henry can now swim a 25 meter lap all by himself.  Yes, his stroke is a hybrid of doggy paddle, freestyle, and drowning, but he is in it to win it, baby!) 

Our errand was heading to the used bookstore.  Normally I like to read on my Ipad, but we are headed to the beach next week and the Ipad is not kids-playing-in-the-sand friendly.  Henry skipped off to the children's section while I checked out the new releases.  And then--cue the Carole King--I felt the earth. move. under my feet.  I felt the sky tumbling down. tumbling down.  At first I was fearful that Henry was leaping off the shelves or some other tom-foolery and was searching for him so I could speak sternly to him in that "I'm going to yell at you but do it in a monotone whispering voice" that all mommies of preschoolers reserve for in public come to Jesus meetings. 

But then the books started falling off the shelves.  And the old people (because this used bookstore is run by a group of snobby blue hairs who think my asking for David Sedaris is beneath them) started shrieking.  And the teenagers who work the Tobacco shop next door had gone out into the parking lot.  I thought, "Oh my gosh.  This is a freaking earthquake.  My son and I are going to be found beneath a sea of musty books surrounded by all these old people.  They'll look for the elderly first, so we are going to die." 

Ummm....I may have been overreacting. 

I'm pretty sure the shelves at Midlothian's Book Exchange are so stuffed that all it takes for the books to fall is lots of traffic.

My sister's story is funnier. 

First off, you need to remember my sister has 8 children.  So inevitably, there is always some sort of drama going on.  Bats in the living room.  Barbies in the toilet.  A child in the corner crying because of some sibling.

Also, my sister's house is 13 miles from the epicenter of yesterday's quake.

She was outside giving her sons haircuts when she too felt the earth move.  Knowing her luck, she immediately assumed that her septic tank was failing.  So she sent the kids inside her house, trying to avoid the impending crap storm, envisioning a geyser of poopy water erupting out of her slate patio. 

Inside, the housekeeper and my teenage niece were rounding up the littles trying to get them outside.  Once my sister had just gotten all her big kids inside, they realized, no--it is not a crap storm but an earthquake. 

And really.  Let's think about this.  5.8 earthquakes are pretty much always preferable to exploding septic tanks and the resulting crap storm. 

But if you combine yesterday's quake with today's poor air quality from the Great Swamp fires and then add those to the weekend's prediction of Hurricane Irene and you have the plot to a Michael Bay end of world thriller.  I'm fully expecting to hear about a meteor coming toward the earth.  I made sure to speak kindly to my suburban today in case it transforms and gets upset about my secret desire for a minivan.

Or maybe I should be looking out for the Rodents of Unusual Size.  I'm not quite sure which would be more shocking at this point. 

DC Travel Tips for families

1.  Take the Metro. It's super cheap and you don't have to worry about getting lost.  OK, you sort of have to worry about not taking the blue line and going to Arlington Cemetery when you mean to take the Orange line and go back to your hotel, but even then, it's no biggie. 
Plus, it is a train.  Which means your kid's head might explode from excitement from pressing multiple elevator buttons, riding escalators, being underground, and then HOLY COW riding a train. Do not be alarmed if your child starts chanting "STEP BACK DOORS ARE CLOSING" at random intervals.

Gracie saying, "Hey, don't you want to ride my train car?"

I'd read some Mommy blogs about taking the Metro with kids in tow.  They all talked about awful it was and how rude people were to them.  So I was prepped with ample comebacks if someone was rude about my kids on the Metro.  False.  I think those Moms must've been idiots.  Or tried to ride at rush hour.  Or didn't know what they were doing.  But my tube skills from my semester in London stepped in and I had our family riding like the celebrities we are.  (Because loads of famous people take public transportation!) 
But here are some key tips:  Look up on-line for any delays or construction.  You can also find out online which stations have broken elevators. Use the online trip planner to familiarize yourself with the route you'll be taking.
Make sure your stroller can fold easily if you need to take the escalator in a pinch.  (We borrowed a friend's slender folding double rather than taking our double wide jogger or stadium seating Phil and Teds.) 
It is kinda difficult to locate the elevators on the street because they are not next to the regular Metro station entrance.  In the stations, follow the clearly marked handicapped signs.  Be kind to the metro station workers, and they may just let you enter and exit freely without ever swiping your card.  Enter the train from the end cars, not the middle and DO NOT TRAVEL DURING RUSH HOUR. 

2.  Set the bar low and be flexible

Going on a spaceship!

Decide before you go on vacation what type of family you are.  Are you see everything  and learn lots kind of people?  Or are you going on vacation to have fun, get away from your daily routine, and spend time with your family kind of people?  We are the latter.  So we chose to do one activity a day.  The Air and Space Museum Saturday, the Zoo on Sunday, and Natural History on Monday.  We would've liked to see some monuments and the like, but the Lincoln Memorial is over a mile from the nearest Metro station so it didn't fit into our plans this time.  Nor did scaling the Washington Monument so my four year old and 18 month old could stare out a tiny window.  We had originally planned on doing the Natural History Museum on Sunday, but the weather report for Monday was for possible rain, so we literally switched gears en route and just kept riding the Metro onto the zoo.  It made for a long day so our plan to go out to dinner later was scratched and we just got take out and ate on our room's giant conference table and then watched the Storage Wars marathon.
3.  Scheduled downtime. 
Gracie needs a nap.  She just does.  She's flexible about when she takes it, but generally she needs to sleep from 2-4.  And Henry has running around needs.  So we tried to schedule time each day when the kids could just run around like crazy people.  We let them run around by the Gorillas in the zoo for about 30 minutes and then we spent some time playing chase on the National Mall.  We also packed some of Henry's trains and some special invisible ink coloring books for Henry to play with in our hotel room during Gracie's naptime.  It was also nice for us adults to slow down and loll about on our comfy king sized bed and read our books.

4.  Pack and dress appropriately

This means if they are calling for hail storms and possible tornadoes and flooding, and you pack each of your children outfits for everyday for both hot and cold weather, and corresponding rain coats and fleeces, you, as the Mommy, MAY need more than a cardigan from Old Navy.  It sure would've been nice to have had a rain coat as we tromped from the Metro to the Air and Space in historic rain fall.  I have a friend whose parents have ponchos from pretty much every tourist place in America because they didn't adhere to this rule. 
BUT we did have two umbrellas.
Also, I was the dorky mom who dressed our family alike.  Yes, some people dress their kids alike so they can find them in a crowd.  But I know me and I wouldn't be able to remember what color the kids were wearing unless I was wearing it myself.  So on Saturday, we were the preppy pink and green team.  Sunday, the aqua and orange team, and Monday--the blue team. Also, should your son INSIST on wearing his Buzz Lightyear pajama shirt to the Air and Space museum (duh, he's a Space Ranger!), let him.  You probably forgot an undershirt anyhow.

5.  THE BACKPACK
Even if you've moved beyond the diaper bag stage, I recommend packing a diaper bag anyways.  We use a backpack rather than my purse so that you can truly be hands free and also Sloan doesn't feel like a tool rocking a Vera Bradley backpack-purse.  (Which, BTW, we saw a man on the Metro carrying a Vera Bradley purse.  We both agree that this is just wrong.  We're pretty sure our gay friends would agree.) I also packed a cooler full of sippy cups, water, apples, bananas, goldfish, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, cheese sticks, granola bars, and dum dums.  But in our diaper bag I had a change of clothes for each child in a zip lock with an extra bag should you have wet clothes (which we used because it was several blocks from the Smithsonian Metro to the NHM and Henry didn't make it), our camera, Purell wipes and purell, an umbrella, and more diapers than you think you could possibly ever need.  In a pinch, diapers can be opened and used to wick away moisture from a recently peed upon stroller.

6.  Extend grace
I'm pretty certain there were several times that I could have just lost it with Sloan.  Perhaps he wasn't listening to me or obeying me or I felt rushed or they ran out of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at the hotel.  But every time I wanted to yell at him, I thought, "We've only got three days here and I don't want to spend it fighting.  Let. It. Go."  And, to my surprise, the world did not end when I didn't constantly correct everyone at all times.  Perhaps the Holy Spirit doesn't need my help in pointing out everyone's flaws.  Hmmmm....  I wonder what this would look like in daily life. 

7.  Laugh Often
Things are going to go wrong.  They just are.  Remember, travelling with family is an adventure and on adventures, things rarely go as planned.  And you might even find yourself being embarrassed by your family members. 
So when you find yourself yelling across a room, "Hey, why don't you two boys hold each other for a picture?" It's okay to pee your pants a little.   But not too much because you didn't pack yourself a second outfit.
If your son should scream from the bathroom stall in the Natural History Museum "Hey, Mommy, come look at my poopy.  It's the biggest poopy I've ever done!"  Just laugh and be thankful he's pooping in the potty because he's already in his second pair of pants.
Also, should your husband insist of making fun of stroller strides Mommies as he pushes the double stroller--let him.  You're not having to push the stroller.  Who cares if he randomly, throughout the entire trip, will start doing stroller lunges or hips thrusts or high kicks saying things like "This is really going to rip my quads" or "Right now I'm jamming my glutes" or, my personal favorite, "I'm totally shredding my scrote right now." 

Not what I'd planned for tonight

Real Conversations (perhaps TMI)

Henry:  Hey, Mommy!  I found a rocket.  Wook! In his hand he is holding an empty tampon applicator*.

Me:  Ummmm, Henry.  That is not a rocket.  That is trash.  Please throw it away.  He obediently threw it away. 

So I continued to wash dishes.

Henry:  Wook, Mommy!  He returns to the kitchen twirling something above his head.  He is very proud of himself.  I made the trash wocket shoot this out.  It's a ghost on a string! 

I couldn't help myself, I burst out laughing. 

Me:  Nope, Henry.  That's trash too.  Please throw it away.

Henry:  (very sad) So it's not a ghost on a string?

Me:  Nope.  Trash.

*Yes.  It was a clean one.

It should also be noted that this afternoon he connected two towers he built with legos with a sanitary napkin. 

Henry: Look, Mommy!  Thomas is going over the bwidge I built with the sticky sticker!
Me: (once again revelling in my stellar parenting) Where did you get that sticky sticker, Henry? 
Henry:  The diaper bag?
Me:  Henry, put the sticky sticker in the trash.  And the diaper bag is also Mommy's purse, so please don't go in there without permission. 
Henry:  Oh-kay.  And then he put the sticky sticker in the trash.  But not before affixing it to his shirt.

Perhaps

Perhaps I should keep better track of my kids. 

Tonight, Henry was so quiet that I sort of forgot about him and went about my merry way feeding Gracie her peas (not a big fan) and peaches (HUGE fan).  I'm about finished up with the spooning and scraping that is feeding an almost 5 month old when I hear "squeak squeak squeak" followed by laughter.  Forgetting where I'd "left" Henry, I looked in the family room.  Not there.  I look in the sunroom, half expecting him to have colored all over himself since he'd already had a bath.  Nope.

"Henry. Where are you?"

"I in here, Mommy. I squeaking!"  (More laughter.)

"Where is here, Henry?"

"Da potty, silly Mommy."

Oh yeah, now I remember.  Henry said he wanted to sit on the potty. (Simply a ploy to get an "M".) He enjoys sitting on the pot and perusing the Land of Nod and Pottery Barn Kids catalogs. So I had removed his diaper and sat him on his little potty in the bathroom off the laundry room.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Well, folks.  Henry had peed on the floor.  And was proceeding to squeak his new Mickey Mouse crocs in his own urine. 

Chuckling,  I rolled my eyes, looked at him and said, "You are such a boy, Henry.  Take off your crocs; they are covered in pee."

"Yes," my sweet son said, "but they squeak!" 

Because you won't remember and I might forget...

My darling Henry,
I am writing this to you in such a public forum because by the time you can read this, you'll understand that were I to simply jot it down on paper I'd lose the paper.  Today was magical.
I also want to apologize for my self-pity as of late.  I've blamed being tired and you being two.  But let this be a lesson to you, my son, we are not victims of other people's moods.  You may be cranky and tired and unable to share, but that is no excuse for me to lose my temper with you.  Please forgive me.  You are two and your behavior is on par for a two year old.  I am 32, and quite frankly, there is no excuse.  It is not your fault, nor your father's fault.  I determine my behavior, and since the Bible tells us that Love is first and foremost patient, I have been unloving towards you as of late.  But please know that in as much as my frail heart can manage, I love you.  As unconditionally as humanly possible.  I pray only that you see that God is not finished with me yet and this gives us hope.
This morning, when I went into your room to wake you, you were reading aloud Henry and the Tunnel to Hop Hop.  When you saw me, your face lit up and you said, "Good morning, Mommy!"  You picked out a dinosaur Tshirt to wear--the one from my cousin Margo that says "Big Trouble in a little shirt."  You also wore your "Wocket Ship" shoes--the black sneakers that have flames on them.
After your breakfast of yogurt and miniwheats, you played with legos while I fed Gracie.  Occasionally you would come show her what you had built.  She especially liked it when you rolled the "Cwane train" on her legs.  You told her she was cute.  She is.
We went to the playground at Huguenot Park.  You wore your yellow snow jacket and the silly jester hat that belonged to your cousin William.  Whenever you wear this hat, people always tell you you are cute.  You are.  At the playground, you played in the sandbox and enjoyed burying a Han Solo figurine.  Some man there tried to tell you that it really was Anakin Skywalker but you said, "No sir, this An Olo."  You shared the shovels with two little boys.  You also enjoyed going down the big slides and informed me that you were too big for the baby slides.  We stayed at the playground for an hour and a half.
We went to lunch at River City Diner.  You loved all of the cars hanging from the ceiling and the mini jukebox at our table.  You told me all the letters and were concerned that there was no "I".  I attempted explaining to you how it looked too much like a 1, but I'm pretty certain you didn't understand.  You ordered for yourself.  The waitress looked at you and said, "And what do you want, young man?"  You shouted, "Hot dog, pwease.  And french fries.  Wots of french fries."  I was so proud of you ordering your own meal and also a little bit sad because you are so grown up.  You colored until your meal came and you ate all of your hot dog and most of your fries.  You even tried dipping your fries in Mustard for the first time, but told me you didn't like the "Yewwow Ketchup." 
When we got home, you were not excited about brushing your teeth.  You told me that you didn't need to brush your teeth because Papa fixed your boo-boo.  Helping you brush your teeth is a bit like wrestling an alligator, but at least today you screamed "No thank you" while I was doing it.  So you were mannerly in your thrashing about.  You picked a Charkey sticker for your toothbrushing chart.  While we brushed your teeth, you got your shirt wet and so you took it off.  You played shirtless for awhile and thought this was very funny.  You ran around the house saying, "Wook, Mommy, Henwe has nipples."  I laughed at you and you told me you were silly.  You also found a pen and drew on your Lego trains and told me they all now had silly faces. 
Before your nap you read me Percy and Harold.  You said that Percy got stuck in the water, which made Annie and "Larabelle" sad, so Harold helped him by dropping coal on Percy's head.  Oddly enough, that is a pretty accurate retelling of the story.  We also read the little critter book The New Baby and you told me that the baby's name was Gracie. 
You slept for a long time.  I woke you up from your nap around 5 and we lolled about in your bed for around 15 minutes just talking, me rubbing your back, and playing peek-a-boo with Hop Hop and Dog Dog.  You told me you had fun at the playground. 
I actually cooked tonight.  (Something I rarely do when Daddy is out of town.)  We had homemade whole wheat macaroni and cheese, with pureed spinach thrown in.  This was a gamble as I know you prefer the stuff in the blue box.  We watched the movie "Robots" while we ate dinner.  You thought Robin William's character was very silly and kept asking where Wall-E and Eve were.  I explained that this was a different Robot movie.  You told me it was a sillier "bobot movie".  I let you sit in your Dad's leather chair and eat dinner in front of the TV.  When I was a little girl, I sat in that same chair and watched TV with Papa. At the end of the movie, you started dancing because it was a James Brown song that told you to "Get up off of that seat."  You got up off of your seat.  Gracie was in my lap and I was jostling her around and raising her hands to make her dance.  This made her overjoyed and giggling.  You danced over, honked her nose, and then said, "Gwacie, you are cute!"  But then you wanted me to dance with you and not with Gracie. 
So we decided to have a dance party.  We went upstairs to your bedroom and got down!  I put Gracie in your wingback and you would yell at her over the music, "I dancing for you.  Gracie watch me dance!"  Gracie squeeled with glee and shook her legs.  You told me that Gwacie was dancing too.  I tried to pick her up to dance with us, but this made you upset. 
Let me try to describe to you what you look like while you are dancing.  While you are cute, you sort of look like a fool.  And quite possibly the whitest person on the planet.  Essentially, you run around in circles, shake your head, and pump your fists in the air.  You do this until you fall down.  Occasionally you stop, put your hands on your knees, and shake your fanny.  Unfortunately, I know where you got this move.  At one point, you were shaking your rear so fast you fell over backwards onto your head.  We danced to Jamiraquai, Stevie Wonder, the Blue Dogs, and John Lennon.  I was very proud that you knew most of the words to "Beautiful Boy".  It has been too long since I have sung that song to you.  Towards the end of the song, we played peek-a-boo under the covers.  You also liked it when I picked you up and twirled you around.  You laughed so hard I thought you were going to throw up. 
I read you your two stories (Thomas Gets Tricked and Henry and the Tunnel) and your Biboo story.  We are just at the part where Jesus is born.  You saw in the picture the stable and you told me it was a Baby Farm.  I asked you why and you said because it was "yittle and had a cow and a baby".  Makes perfect sense to me.
I checked on you about an hour after I put you down.  You were still up, legs crossed, looking at the book "Thomas and Big Big Bridge".  I knelt down beside you and was overcome with love for you.  I told you that you were my baby and I loved you.  You said that you had fun at the playground and eating french fries.  I told you that I had fun too.  You reminded me that we also watched a Silly Bobot movie.  I told you that I hoped we could have fun again tomorrow.  
I cannot imagine having a better day than I had today.  I'm sure it would have been lots of fun if Daddy could've been there, but in truth, I am thankful that I did not have to share you.
Thank you for being mine, my beautiful boy.  My life is better because you are in it. 

Henry's bloody mouth

There are many reasons I've been slack about updating the blog as of late.  For starters, our computer is slowly dying and it is a bear and a half just to check email much less update the blog.  I am supposed to have the new computer by March 1 and I am counting down the days and rearranging the furniture in the office/living room.  (No, not a requirement.  But I tend to rearrange furniture when life gets hairy.  I suppose on some level I believe that furniture placement is the source of my problems.  Probably something deeper going on there, but I really don't have the brainpower to parse that out right now.)

Secondly, I've been working on some artwork for Gracie's room.  It is now completed and at some point I'll post a picture of it.  It's working title is "How Tweet the Sound."  And yes, it is a collage of a birdy.

But mostly, it has been because my children have slowly been driving me crazy.  Last week I cried because I realized that at some point, Gracie will be 2 and this knowledge overwhelmed me.  Yes, I have a bit of time before this happens.  And right now I'm mainly praying that Gracie doesn't outgrow her infant carrier prior to being able to sit up. 

You see, we're still dealing with the biting.  And I've been mostly silent about this because mentally I'm so over talking about it.  I get it.  He shouldn't bite.  But what is a molehill to me is a mountain to others.  Yes, it is a bad thing.  Yes, we are talking with him about it and let it be known that Thomas does not like to play with biters and this may be the ticket to no biting.  (Thomas is British and despite being known for messed up teeth, the British are known for their manners.  So it is with much sadness that Thomas gets put away--and I mean all 100 trains, Lego trains, Thomas books and movies--and stored in grocery bags for the entire day a biting occurs.)  But as Moms have approached me in an effort to be an advocate for their children, I've pretty much said little.  But I feel now it is appropriate to be an advocate for my son.  Guess what?  He is two.  Almost three.  Big shock he has issues with self-control.  He gets this from his mother, who at 32 has issues with self-control. I literally had to give up saying "That's what she said" and "Your mom" jokes for lent and it is about to kill me.  (Of course, it doesn't help to have a husband who attempts to set me up.)   I don't mean to downplay his errant behavior, but really, do you need to talk about it with your friends and say things like, "Well, you really need to get control of his behavior.  None of my kids were biters because we told them it was wrong."  "Maybe you shouldn't put him in Sunday School for awhile."  Or my favorite, "He really is an agressive boy.  Perhaps you should work on helping him to be more passive."

Nope.  Not going to do it.  Henry is a boy and the world has enough passive men in it already.  Sure, he needs to learn to share and be selfless, but unless he develops a sense of self prior to these lessons, he will be a pushover.  I do not think that the fact that Henry bit your kid is a sign of a greater problem lying ahead.  It shows nothing about his character at large.  Moreover, I understand you take issue with my parenting.  Join the club.  I take issue with it.  I don't know what I'm doing.  I'm just loving him and disciplining him and trying to show him that, indeed, he needs a Savior just like Mommy.  And to suggest that I remove him from Sunday School is also problematic for me.  If church isn't a place for sinners, where is?  Perhaps my son's bite on your child's arm is an opportunity for you to speak with your kid about compassion and the need to pray for our friends who struggle.

So yeah, I'm a failure of a Mom.  And while you are 'advocating' for your child, let me simply ask that the next time you want to talk about this, you speak to my Advocate.  His name is Jesus and He's already paid for both my child's and my sins.

I'm cutting the kid some slack.  Apparently he is so under stress from Gracie joining the family that he is now suffering from his 5th canker sore.  His mouth has been bleeding since January.  We went to the Dentist yesterday (my dad) and we now have meds and special mouthwash.  Not so sure about the Magic Mouthwash as we haven't gotten the idea of swishing down.  And I'm not completely convinced that the two mouth issues aren't related. 

On a lighter note, Henry graduated from Speech therapy on Friday.  He was retested and no longer has ANY developmental delays.  To be more accurate, the child will not shut up.  All we hear about is Thomas, Lighting McQueen, Baby Gwacie, and the boo-boo in his mouth. 

But to the mothers of the kids in his Sunday School class, I will have you know that not only did Henry make it all 2 1/2 hours of his class today during my Bible Study without biting someone--he also won the obedience game.  (A game that's description sounded a lot like Freeze tag.)  That's right, Henry is the obedience champ.  Chew on that.

I think he gets it from me...

Me:  Get your finger out of your nose.
Henry:  I'm picking it.
Me:  Yes.  That's gross.  Stop picking your nose.
Henry:  But I have boogers.
Me:  I'll get you a tissue.
Henry:  (looking at his finger)  That's okay.  I got booger.

Hooked on Phonics

Remember when I was worried that Henry wasn't talking?  Hmmmm, yeah, what was I thinking?  Not only does he talk all the time, he has proven that perhaps he is too smart for his own good.

If Henry has been in the right mood and you live in Richmond, you may have heard Henry perform my favorite trick of his.  This is the correctly identify all the letters of the alphabet and their sounds routine.  It goes like this...

ME:  Henry, what does an A say?
HENRY:  aaaa
ME:  What does a B say?
HENRY: Buh.

And so on.  That's right, folks, my two year old knows all the letters of the alphabet by sight and their phonetic sounds.  He has even, of his own accord, begun to sound words out.  Important words like "Wal-Mart",  "Gas", and "ESPN". 

So as if his running away from me in McAlister's Deli yesterday wasn't enough to grab disaproving stares, his screaming later during the meal took the cake. 

Close up on me, Henry, and Gracie in car seat at a table in McAlister's Deli.  Across from the boy's high chair, is a television screen hanging from the ceiling.

HENRY:  H!  L!  N!

ME:  (Turns to find out what he is screaming about)Yes, Henry, the TV is turned to HLN, Headline News.

HENRY:  S!  E!  X!  S!  E!  X!   sssssssss eeehhhhh  cs  cs  cs.  ssss  eh?  cs!  Sex!

ME:  (Turning)  What the?!?  (Notices that according to the headline across the bottom, they are running a story on Sex Offenders.)  Good job, Henry.  You are reading.  Now can you stop screaming?

HENRY:  S!  E!  X!

ME:  I'll give you my chips if you stop screaming.

HENRY:  Okay.  (whispers)  S.  E.  X.

ME:  Awesome.  Thanks for obeying me, buddy.

Thanks a lot, Danny Kaye

Don't get me wrong.  I love snow.  I particularly love it at Christmas.  Who doesn't love a White Christmas?  I'd even go so far as to say the movie White Christmas makes my top ten list of all time favorite movies.  But a foot of the stuff?  The weekend before Christmas?  I'm feeling more than a little Bah Humbug about it.  Mainly because the image in my mind of what a White Christmas means--cups of cocoa with mini marshmallows, a snow man, sledding down hills with your scarf blowing in the breeze, plates of  Christmas cookies fresh from the oven--is vastly different than reality--twisting my knee in the snow, a toddler so excited he simply runs in circles and screams the word snow,  a pile of dirty snow at the end of your driveway from the snowplows, and the copious amounts of laundry that snow playing creates.

I'm not a total scrooge.  It is just that it is so much work for so little reward.  It takes us roughly 30 minutes to get suited up.  And this is not an easy endeavor.  Henry does not want to wait to put on extra clothes and his coat.  He wants to go in the snow.  Now!!!

 And once we're outside, let's talk about the  frustration of being 2 and wearing so many clothes you can barely move.   It doesn't help to start chanting, "Mommy, I stuck" or "Daddy, I fall.  Fall down.  Help!" if your parents are laughing at you.  Seriously.  We laughed at him, because he couldn't bend at the waist to prop himself up.   No matter, he still wanted to simply roll around in the snow.  I thought about teaching him how to make snow angels, but not owning snow bibs myself, I simply was too lazy to get down in the snow and do it.  Yeah, I know.  I'm a sucky mom.  But that there snow is cold.  And wet.  I'm also completely helpless as to how I'm supposed to build a snowman.  I think maybe the snow isn't wet enough.  Is this a possibility?  And I've got an unattended baby inside in her swing... 

Yeah!  This year we've got an actaul sled, so Dad's not just pulling me around in a bucket.

Of course, the bucket is a little more secure.

Um, Dad, a little help here.  I've fallen and I can't get up.

Eventually, we did head inside for cookie making.  I was imagining Henry really being into this.  He loves to play with playdough.  We would sing Christmas Carols, decorate cookies, and sneak bites of raw cookie dough.  Nope. When I attempted singing, he told me to be quiet.  When I tried to get him to eat a piece of cookie dough, he promptly spit it out and said, "Out of mouth."  (Which tells me that he has been listening.  Sometimes...)  I did get him to punch out a couple of cookies.  But mostly, he just looked out the back of the house, screaming that he wanted to go outside again.

We did eventually head outside again, this time with Gracie in tow. (Much to Sloan's protesting.)  I'm not sure there is anything cuter than this picture.  I love the expression on her face and the dab of formula at the corner of her mouth.  In truth, I kind of think she looks like a tanner version of her cousin Natalie in this photo.

  Henry wanted in on the action.

But only for about three seconds.

Dang it, Mom.  I keep falling.  Gracie, a little help.  Grace?  Grace?  Mommy, why are you holding your crotch while you laugh?

You Decide

Which is worse?

Watching your son waterboard his cousin in the bathtub or...

Watching your son retrieve his cousin's poop from the toilet?

Move over Adam Samberg

Yo, this is Richmond.

Thank you, Tracy.

Boys are from Pluto (Even though it isn't a planet anymore)

I've come to discover that Henry is weird. Not weird in a bad way, just maybe that all 2 year olds have a touch of the weird. Perhaps it is because my mother prayed I'd have children like me.

Henry enjoys spinning in circles. Spinning on the couch. Spinning while sitting down. Spinning while stomping. Spinning while playing the drums. Often, he screams "Woun, woun, wound" as he's spinning. When I see him doing this, I'll say, "Look at you spinning, Wild Man!" and then he'll run across the room (drunkenly) screaming, "Wi Man! Wi Man!"

Last night, the wild man showed up in the bathtub. As in, Henry would lay on his stomach and start kicking and splashing while yelling at the top of his lungs, "Wi Man! Wi Man!"

Or we'll be sitting nicely on the couch, reading "Go, Dog, Go!" for say, oh I don't know, the 10th time in a day. Then he'll stand on the couch, scream, "Hiding" and then begin to burrow in the pillows. If you lift the pillows to look for him, he will actually go underneath the seat cushions. Through his guffaws of laughter, you'll hear a little voice yelping, "Hiding!"

He has also effectively learned the word help. Remember how his speech teacher wanted him to request help? Well, he's learned the word help. Except when Henry says it, he sounds as though he is sending some sort of distress signal. "HELLLLLLP! HELLLLLLP!" He sounds so pitiful you think assuredly he is trapped under a fallen tree. Nope. He is simply sitting on the couch, pointing at the TV with the wrong remote. "Help", to Henry, does not mean, "Hey, I'm trying my best, but I need a little assistance." Help to Henry means, "Do this thing for me. And do it now." I think he gets this from me as I actually have been known to sit on the couch, throw Sloan the remote and say, "I am ready to watch TV now." (Thanks for your prayers, Mom.)

And each day he will select a toy that he will carry with him all day long. Today it was one of those old school telephones, the ones with the eyes and the red pull string. Not the easiest toy to take with you to the doctor's office or the adoption agency. Yesterday, it was a large orange car. On good days, it is a train or a matchbox car. And if you were wondering what the maximum number of matchbox cars that Henry can successfully carry around at one time--eleven.

Sometimes I just look at him and think, "What are you doing? You are so weird. You're so...male. Thank God I have your Dad to explain you to me. But come to think of it, he's pretty weird too."

Looking to buy bon bons

If you are my facebook friend, then will have noticed one thing--I've been spending a lot of time at our pool. Specifically, I've been spending a lot of time poolside sans Henry. That's right, people, I drop my son off in our gym's childcare so I can lay out by the pool and read. I particularly like to call Sloan at while working on my tan. Mainly just to say, "Hey, I'm lolling about and you're not" which is usually met with the following reply, "So when you complain about how you slave away all day at the house cleaning and taking care of Henry, this is what you are referring to? Have you any bon bons to eat while you sit around and do nothing?"
In my defense, before I lay out by the pool, I do work out on the elliptical. This morning, however, during my work-out, I realized that I'm old. And to be truthful, I've never really thought of myself as old; I'm only 31. But as the college student working behind the programs desk handed me my towel, "Here you are m'am," it struck me--she obviously does not see me as the same age as her, like I do. And then, when I plunked my book down on the elliptical and cranked up my Ipod, I knew I was old. I did not turn on the TV, despite the fact that the middle aged (er, my aged) women next to me were watching VH1 and Bravo while flipping through magazines, Star and Rolling Stone. Me? Reading Girl With Pearl Earring. Listening to classical music. Who, except for old people and me, listens to classical music to work out? Perhaps I should look for an afghan to put around my shoulders while I'm out buying bon bons.
I do feel my lolling about poolside is well deserved. You see, once I'm aware that I'm closing in on my 2 hours and 15 minutes of free childcare per day that comes with my membership, I do go get the pickle and wrangle (and I do mean wrangle!) him into his swim diaper and trunks, sunscreen, hat and sunglasses. This task is made more difficult as the light switch for the bathroom is accessible from the changing table in the family bathroom, so half of this work is done in the dark as Henry likes to play with the switch.
But once Henry gets to the pool, there is no more lolling about. Many Mommies get to sit by the pool and casually talk to one another while their toddlers sit near them and splash about in the water or the fountains. Maybe once or twice their children venture into deeper waters, but they usually are frightened and so stay near Mommy.
Not the case with Henry. Henry likes to go the the edge of the pool and jump in. He counts "1,2,3" and then dunks his head under. He goes down on his belly and pretends he is a snake, hissing with his face in the water while I say, "Gross, Henry. Get your mouth out of the water." He does not get his mouth out of the water. He tosses his plastic truck ahead of him, laughing as he goes and gets it, essentially playing fetch with himself. He splashes me. I, in turn, show him what a real splash looks like. He laughs so hard I fear he'll throw up. We go stand under the water buckets and love it when the bucket dumps a lot of water on Mommy's head. He likes to show me how he can walk all the way across the pool (which has a beach entry and then goes to 3 feet). He goes up on his tippy toes and tilts back his head, laughing all the way across the pool. At which point he then pulls himself up out of the pool, Michael Phelps style. (No matter how many times I see him do this--it still amazes me. He is able to pull himself up out of the pool despite not really being tall enough to push off with his feet.) Then he proceeds to turn around, hop in, and begin again. Once he's done this four or five, or ten times, he then decides it is time to check out the perimeter of the pool grounds. He goes to play on the playground. Crawls under and climbs over lounge chairs, paying no mind as to whether there are people on them or not. He pulls out every toy from the lost and found and takes it to the water. Occasionally, he'll find one of the squat chairs right by the pool entry and sit in it. This excites me, so I sit next to him. He waits until I'm comfortable and then he is off again. He visits the lifeguard and gives him a fist bump. There are three lifeguards, so the fist bumping takes awhile.
This morning he even made a friend. His first friendship he has ever initiated himself. Sure, he's got loads of buddies--Isabel, Nathan, Anna, Loren, Colten--but all of these friends he has because I've basically just dropped him off at their house or they see each other at church. This friend, a 20 month old named Sam, Henry chose himself. This is how it happened. Henry has some toys for the pool--a couple of those squishy balls, some squirter animals, and a plastic truck. Well, Sam was playing in the fountain while his mom and grandma chatted to one another. Henry and I had just returned from our second round of "lifeguard fist bump" of the day and I pulled out our toys. Henry took one of his balls, looked at the boy, and said, "Hey, ball!" and then threw the ball at the boy. The boy did not really respond. So Henry took another ball, said, "Hey! Hey! Hey!" until the boy looked at Henry, and then Henry said, "Ball!" and threw another ball at the boy. The boy, in turn, looked at Henry and said, "Baseball" and threw the ball back. I told the boy's mom I wasn't quite sure what to be more shocked by--my son's friendliness or his sharing. I talked a bit with Sam's mom while our boys played with one another's toys. We're planning on meeting again at the pool later this week. The boys were very sweet waving bye bye to one another in the parking lot. I just hope I can remember Sam's Mom's name by the time we see them again.
Perhaps if I eat some bon bons it will jog my memory. Actually, I don't have bon bons. Do you think Skittles will help? I do so love to taste the rainbow, and I did work out today...

Mother's Day Weekend

In Elizabethtown, Mother's Day last for an entire weekend. I highly recommend this scenario even for those of you living in your own little suburbs of family life. And Mother's Day weekend means that I get to choose whatever we do. (And don't worry that I'm not just lolling about. The doctor's said that was not necessary after 24 hours and I spend loads of time lolling on Thursday and Friday.) So here is the run down of the MOST AWESOME Mother's Day weekend ever.

Friday night, watched Slumdog Millionaire. Yep. It really is as good as everybody says it is.

Saturday Morning, we hit the yard sales family style, going to a neighborhood community yard sale. Sloan would simply drive up, stop, I'd leer, and we'd move on to the next one if nothing caught my fancy. But people, I racked up some good stuff. Watch out, Rebecca Perry, your status as the Yard Sale Queen may just be in jeopardy. Here is the rundown...

• 1 leaf blower, vacuum, mulcher thingy: Listed for $50. Paid $25.
• One TOMY gear toy, one construction puzzle, and one Thomas the Tank Engine Magnetic book with no magnets missing: Listed for $5, $3, and $3. Paid $5 for all three.
• One three drawered Tupperware drawers thingy: Listed for $8. Paid $3.
• Set of bongos with dinosaurs painted on them: Listed for $5. Paid $1.
• Framed with glass print of Babar flying airplane: Listed for $12. Paid $4.
• And the ultimate talisman of my yard saling prowess--One Little Tykes Purple Dinosaur Sandbox: FREE!!!!!!! That's right people. I noticed it had a crack in the lid (easily fixed by that Mighty Putty stuff from TV), and voila! that afternoon Sloan was pushing 600 lbs of sand around in a cart in home depot.

Then we went out for breakfast at River City Dinner. Eggs, grits, bacon, and hot chocolate. Yum Yum Yum.

Then it was off to the Short Pump mall to see two of my nieces dressed up as Oompa Loompas at one of my favorite places in the world--Barnes and Noble. And books were bought by everyone. This was during the time that I let Sloan roam for books while I watched Henry. And since I can't pick him up, I had to enlist his Oompa Loompa cousin, Rebekah, to wrangle him back to the train table.

Then we took a ride on the Short Pump Train which was quite possibly the greatest moment in Henry's little life.

He road the whole way, smiling and saying, "Choo choo." The only thing that stopped him from choo-chooing was his new love of Exit signs. (Should you ever be in a burning building, pray you've been there with my son, as he will have pointed out to you EVERY. SINGLE. SIGN. He points to them and says "EEEEEEE EHHHH IIIIII TEEEEE." That's right. The boy can't say the word exit, but he can spell it for you. We should've name him Fire, so he could be Fire Marshall Phillips.)

Sloan having to explain to a forlorn Henry that he can't go on another train ride. But promising that he will ride the train again soon.

Then home for nap time--aka "lie on the couch and read time" while Sloan does yard work. I finished my sappy book and started a book I'm really enjoying. You see, I have a problem. I'm pretty sure that I've never not finished a book I started. (That's not true. I'm pretty sure that in middle school I attempted reading the Bible from cover to cover no less than four times. I don't think I ever made it out of Genesis.) Generally, I feel I owe it to the author to complete what he or she worked so hard on. Well, people, I read the Shack. It's this story about a forlorn man who meets God in person in a shack. While I understand what the book's intent was and even applaud it, discounting the several theological problems I had with the book, I thought it was trite. Cheesy. Kind of like if Michael W. Smith and Nicolas Sparks had a love child. (Which is disturbing in and of itself on many levels.) But I'm done with it! And now onto the godless book, Bad Mother, by Ayelet Waldman (thank you, Angie for your posting of the NY Times article on her on Facebook). I can guarantee that this book will warrant its own post when I finish it.

And Sunday morning did not disappoint, either. Henry slept in until 7:45. So I got breakfast in bed with just my sweet Sloan. Obeying the rules of Sugar Sundays, Sloan brought me (on a silver tray no less) two slices of pound cake, a bowl of strawberries, and a crystal goblet full of Diet Dr. Pepper. Breakfast of champions, people.

And we had lunch of champions as well, at Fleming's.
Yes, I have a corsage. That's how awesome I am.

Or maybe I'm not so awesome as Henry is giving me the Heisman as I try to snag a kiss.

Why is Mommy asking for a kiss so funny?

Thanks for the kiss, Henry. A little less tongue next time.

And again, Henry's afternoon nap time was spent how we used to spend every Sunday afternoon before Henry was born--cuddled up with one another and our books. Could there be anything better than to have your legs entwined with your beloved while reading? Bliss. Not to be outdone by his father, Henry is in "book time Sundays" training as well.

All in all a good Mother's Day weekend. The only downer was when during church I suddenly realized that,if I'm lucky, I will not be able to pick up and hold my dear son for the next nine months. He'll be a man by that time. Or at least wearing a size 2 men's shoe.

I think the key to having a wonderful Mother's Day is having a wonderful spouse. Henry has such a wonderful father. Despite the fact that I completely forgot, Sloan is the kind of man who remembered that yesterday was the 2 yr anniversary of when we were able to bring the pickle home from the hospital. And the six year anniversary of our first kiss.

My dearest Sloan, perhaps in addition to All My Life, I should add to the list How Sweet it is to be Loved by You.

The face (and laughter) of compassion

It is no secret that I'm completely smitten with a one Master Henry Marshall Phillips. But sometimes, I'm so overcome with with love for him that I can't help but smile. Particularly when I get glimpses into the man he will become. From what I've seen today, he will be funny and he will be a good friend. (Not unlike his father.)

This morning, Henry "told" his first joke. Every morning when we walk down the stairs, I ask him to point to various people in the pictures on the wall, and he lovingly obliges. On several occasions, when asked to point to Mommy or Henry, he's pointed directly at me or himself, respectively. To which I always chuckle and say, "Well, yes, but where is Mommy in the picture?" This morning, we were putting away his trains into their Tupperware containers. (I've had to 'box' up all his toys in an effort to encourage him to ask for help. Despite having bought the most complicated and child proofed bins, it took all of 20 minutes for him to figure these out. He's also learned how to unzip the laundry bags the toys are in. And oh yeah, he even knows how to pull a stool up from the island, climb up it, undo the safety latch on the pantry doors, climb back down, move the stool, open the pantry door, and then climb back up the stool to fetch the goldfish box. Where am I during this? Usually just standing in awe at my boyish son, watching him sit elbow deep in the box of goldfish, thinking, "Why does he need to ask for help when he so obviously does not need it?" But his speech therapist says that asking for help is her goal for him, so I'm trying to raise the first man who will ask for help.)
Okay, so back to putting the trains in their containers and his joke. I'm naming all the trains and saying, "Bring me Toby. Put Toby in the box." And he brings me Toby and places him the box. "Okay, bring me Henry. Put Henry in the box." And the boy grabs the Henry train and his tender and then proceeds to jump into the box himself. Then he says, "No no!", throws his head back and just laughs and laughs. Then he steps out of the box, and through his laughter says, "Choo choo!" and then places the Henry train in the box. I gotta tell you, his first "joke" was a hit. He had the whole audience laughing. (And by whole audience, I mean me.)

Also this morning we went over to watch his BFF Nathan and Nathan's sister Anna. Nathan is 5 months older than Henry and Anna is 4. Nathan was playing with his dad's recliner and popped open the footrest, which he knows he is not supposed to do because it is a finger chomper. So I made Nathan set the recliner aright, and then we went into the dining room for a little refresher on recliner protocol. And then I made him put his nose on the wall and wait until he could play again. (Yes, I know this is a bit school marmish. But I've found that having to take a breather while watching others play is a bit much for a 2 year old boy to handle, so making him face the wall is actually me showing grace to him. And making him concentrate on keeping his nose to the wall is the only way I've found to keep a toddler occupied and actually turned in one direction.)
Well, Henry began to look for Nathan. "Nay-no? Nay-no?" To which, Nathan responded, "In here, Hen-hee. I rouble."
Henry proceeded to go into the dining room and join Nathan. He pressed his nose up to the wall beside Nathan, and put his hand on Nathan's back. This was a point of conflict for the older sister. "You are supposed to be alone when you are in time out." But I looked at her, coloring in the kitchen, and then looked at these two friends bearing one another's burdens, and told her, "You know, Anna. I know Nathan is supposed to be by himself during time out. But Henry is being compassionate. He is being a good friend." To which Anna responded, "Well, then I guess it's okay." "Yeah, Anna, " I said, "I guess it's okay too."
And the two boys stayed there, with their noses mashed against the wall, for probably another 30 seconds, until I said, "Okay, Nathan. Time's up." And then they went back to playing, fighting over Thomas, because while Henry can bear his friend's burden and be with him in his distress, he cannot seem to part with either of the blue engines.

A Week in Review

MMMmmmm. Mommy introduces Henry to Ranch dressing. Not too crazy about these veggies you are giving me Mommy, so I'll just suck off the dressing and then slather on more Ranch.


Daddy wants you to know that never before has such an awesome robot ever been colored. He tells me it could totally beat up the Iron Giant. Mommy is just proud that I'm not eating the crayons. Last week Mommy let me eat a piece of sidewalk chalk. She said it was better than the acorns I kept putting in my mouth. She finds it odd I'll eat chalk but not cucumbers.
We headed down to Davidson, NC for Grandpa Phillips's birthday. Mommy says it is great we are staying in a suite because then I get to have my own room and she doesn't have to go to bed at 7:30. I think it's awesome because it only took me 5 minutes to find where they keep all of the pots and pans and only ten minutes to break the shelves they were sitting on.
The first of Grandpa P's birthday parties. Mommy was a bit stressed because I kept wanting to play with things made of glass at Grandma and Grandpa's house. Grandma told her not to worry, but Mommy is afraid of me bearing near Tiffany lampshades. But my cousins, Violet and Bo, shared some matchbox cars with me and that was cool.
We are warriors. We were not afraid of the pouring rain and still made it to the Billy Graham Library on Friday with Grandma and Grandpa Phillips, Great Aunt Phyllis, and Great Uncle Randy and Aunt Nancy. It was my first museum. It had lots of movies for me to watch and I was a real trooper. I just wish they didn't keep making me be the boy in the bubble. Geesh, Mom, it's just rain. I ain't scared of getting wet.


Can't you see where I get my good looks from? The Phillips cousins (aka Marshall and Holly's tribe)--Violet, 7, Bo, 6, and Gigi, 23 months. All dressed up for Grandpa Phillips's 2nd birthday party at Quail Hollow Country Club. Mommy and Daddy wanted to visit some of Mommy's sorority sisters, which was cool, because you know how I love the ladies. Apparently Jenna Cowley (2 yrs) hasn't gotten the memo that trucks are for boys because I don't care if she was playing with it first, I want it now. Mommy, you can say the word "Share" all you want but I think we're making it pretty clear that we don't like that word.


This one (Caroline Harkness, 4 months) is more my speed, Mommy. Although you keep saying "gentle." You do know I'm a 17 month old boy and this is as gentle as I get.
Busted.
Now that I've taken down the shelf in here, Mommy, I can climb all the way in.

Thank God I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. Next trip, Mommy, you'd better not forget Mr. Bunny.

Looking for Narnia

MOM, I thought you said I'd find Narnia. All that's in here are stinkin' tablecloths and board games.

No, it's not Danger. It's Marshall.

Henry surveys the fountain.
As Henry gets older, it is great to see his personality evolve. Like me, he is all about action never wanting to sit still, and yet, loving to sleep in. (Do any of your kids sleep until 8:45?) Like his father, he loves remotes and turning on and off the TV. Like me, he cannot stand to be told no and never hesitates to show his disappointment. Like his father, he thinks the only thing more tasty on earth than a hot dog is a hot dog infused with cheese.
But never more apparent has his burgeoning temperament been on display than when he is faced with something new. Sloan and I took him to the fountains at Stony Point Fashion Park. Let me first say that once again I was reminded that having a baby has made me stupid. I remembered his swim diapers, crocs, the camera, but forgot to bring a towel. So I ended up having to buy a towel at Restoration Hardware. I also forgot that maybe I should wear a bathing suit too. Oh well. It's just water, right?

I assumed that my little dare devil would be like me and see the spraying water and just run right in. He'd see danger, say "That's my middle name" and we'd never see him again. But he did not. Nor did he seem afraid of the water. Rather, he was daringly cautious. In fact, now that I think about it, he seemed very mature when posed with a new phenomena.
He circled the fountain. He checked out all of the children and their mothers who were parked on benches circling the fountain. He checked out how cool he looked in his crocs in the store windows. Then, slowly, he approached the fountain. On the perimeter, there are little squirts that barely shoot up. He bent down and put his little finger in it, it sprayed him. He backed up a bit, tilted his head to one side, and then proceeded to test all of the perimeter fountains. Then he saw that there were larger ones on the inside and that sometimes there was no water. He also noticed the lights in set in the ground and checked these out as well. And then every now and then I'd pick him up, put him in the water directly and without getting upset, he'd set back to his investigation. Sloan and I were about to pack up, thinking that he'll like it better when we bring him back with his cousins. We'd been there 30 minutes and though he'd investigated it, he didn't seem too into it. But then he started laughing. He'd bend down, put his hand in the spout, it would spray water and then he'd laugh. And then he was off. Running like Frankenstein through the water. He never ventured into the center where the lights and big fountains were, but enjoyed the fountain nevertheless. I am proud to say that maybe danger isn't Henry's middle name and that that is a good thing.