Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Thanks Blockbuster
Think what you may about Blockbuster getting in hot water with the State Attorney General’s offices for their fraudulent and deceptive “End of Late Fees” advertising campaign. I still think their renamed “Limited Late Fee” policy is a gift to anyone who has trouble flossing every other day, let alone return a video you didn’t have time to watch by 11am. Besides I think there are other companies have been far more egregious with their advertising. I’m sorry but hair color from a box never delivers as promised. And does anyone really believe that Jack-in-the-Box uses 100% sirloin patties. I’m also not sure that I would agree that United has the friendliest skies.
If not for this new policy that basically extends the rental period from 2 days to 30 days with only a $1.25 restocking fee, I would never have known how bad “Mission Impossible III” was. Or wait, did I fall asleep in that one or am I just having a hard time separating Tom Cruise the person from Tom Cruise the actor? Anyway, if not for the 30 day grace period, I probably would never have gotten around to meeting Olive and her goofy family in “Little Miss Sunshine.” And that would have been tragic.
Given the energy level that Brett and I (don’t) have every night after the boys go to bed, it can take several days, sometimes weeks, before our intention to watch a rented movie actually becomes a reality. Most nights we pass on the movie to “read” instead, which really is code for saying “I’m planning to start snoring in the next ten minutes.” Other nights we park ourselves in front of TiVO and watch a little Jon Stewart. Those are typically the nights we’ve endured an epic meltdown and merely need assurance that it’s not only our four year old child who struggles with “making their word gold.” Rummy, Alberto Gonzalez, John Bolton – just to name a few – seem to have that trouble too.
Once or twice during that 30 day window, we muster up the energy to watch one of the handful of movies we've rented. We generally rent three to four at a time so that we have options to choose from depending on our mood. This means that we usually only watch 50% of what we rent. It also means that we will probably have to rent “The Last King of Scotland” for the next six months before we get “in the mood” for that one. Sorry, but even Forest Whitaker’s winning performance can’t hold a candle to checking out Daniel Craig as the new Bond. Or wait, did I fall asleep in that one too? Darn that narcolepsy.
I did make it all the way through “The Freedom Writers” with Hilary Swank this past weekend. I didn’t even need popcorn to stay awake. And although the plot line maybe a bit overdone, it’s good when a movie reminds you that your life is pretty blessed. Thanks Blockbuster. No need to call with my reminder voice mail about my late movies, we got them back just in time for our restocking charge.
If not for this new policy that basically extends the rental period from 2 days to 30 days with only a $1.25 restocking fee, I would never have known how bad “Mission Impossible III” was. Or wait, did I fall asleep in that one or am I just having a hard time separating Tom Cruise the person from Tom Cruise the actor? Anyway, if not for the 30 day grace period, I probably would never have gotten around to meeting Olive and her goofy family in “Little Miss Sunshine.” And that would have been tragic.
Given the energy level that Brett and I (don’t) have every night after the boys go to bed, it can take several days, sometimes weeks, before our intention to watch a rented movie actually becomes a reality. Most nights we pass on the movie to “read” instead, which really is code for saying “I’m planning to start snoring in the next ten minutes.” Other nights we park ourselves in front of TiVO and watch a little Jon Stewart. Those are typically the nights we’ve endured an epic meltdown and merely need assurance that it’s not only our four year old child who struggles with “making their word gold.” Rummy, Alberto Gonzalez, John Bolton – just to name a few – seem to have that trouble too.
Once or twice during that 30 day window, we muster up the energy to watch one of the handful of movies we've rented. We generally rent three to four at a time so that we have options to choose from depending on our mood. This means that we usually only watch 50% of what we rent. It also means that we will probably have to rent “The Last King of Scotland” for the next six months before we get “in the mood” for that one. Sorry, but even Forest Whitaker’s winning performance can’t hold a candle to checking out Daniel Craig as the new Bond. Or wait, did I fall asleep in that one too? Darn that narcolepsy.
I did make it all the way through “The Freedom Writers” with Hilary Swank this past weekend. I didn’t even need popcorn to stay awake. And although the plot line maybe a bit overdone, it’s good when a movie reminds you that your life is pretty blessed. Thanks Blockbuster. No need to call with my reminder voice mail about my late movies, we got them back just in time for our restocking charge.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
9th Month Letter to Lawton
Dear Lawton,
Tomorrow you turn nine months old which means that my body could theoretically be capable of birthing another baby eight weeks from now. Thankfully, that was not the recovery plan we were on. And we (your dad especially) are doing everything in our power to insure that you remain our last baby. Knowing that you are our last, I’ve been trying to savor every moment with you. To live in the present and not be obsessed with whether you can hear me perfectly or make the right number of vowel sounds. With your brothers I was so eager to get to the next milestone – anxious to know that all was well with their development, but with you – I only wish I could slow things down. And I’m not saying that because I know you are about to start crawling with purpose and change our lives forever. It’s just that I can’t rock your brothers to sleep anymore, or make them laugh by simply blowing on their faces. And so I want to enjoy these things with you as long as I can.
As you know, we haven’t totally settled on what to call you. Lawton. Lawton James. LJ. Lawton Jimmy. Plain ol’ Jimmy. It must be confusing to be called by so many different names, but you are responding to all of them. I keep wanting to call you Law, but it seems too grown up for you right now. I sometimes dream about hearing it over a PA system one day: “Law Ballbach for two points, two points Law.” It sounds so cool to me. I hope you end up liking your name(s) when you get old enough to have an opinion about it. Be glad that you weren’t born during the brief phase twelve years ago when I thought Forest might be an interesting name for a son. I doubt your Dad would have ever agreed to it during the name ideation phase (which in my world is a very long process), but I think I probably could have gotten anything I wanted in the 8-12 hours following childbirth – even Forest. That would have been scary had that happened though. Your nickname could have been Woody instead of Jimmy.
Your mobility is increasing with each day. We try to keep you contained to the living room rug, but you are finding your way to the edges of it with a combination of scooting and rolling. You have also decided that the edges of the rug are your MOST favorite thing to put in your mouth. I wish you could understand how dirty that really is. The rug mat has never been cleaned and it’s been lying in the same position since we moved in. Frankly I think it might be more sanitary to lick the bottom of my purse. You should know that as our third child, our hygiene standards are much lower than they once were. We do reuse unfinished bottles of formula and you are bathed sporadically at best, but we do feel strongly about keeping the rug out of your mouth.
You’ve been clearer recently that though you like virtually everything we put in front of you, that you would prefer that we stop feeding your yummy Spinach and Potatoes. I can’t say that I blame you; but when your Dad was at the grocery store two months ago he must have convinced himself that there would be no more jars of green vegetables until October or he was planning for lockdown. So needless to say there is still a lot of yummy Spinach and Potatoes to get through, and our family is all about finishing things off. This will become inconvenient to you one day in the shower when you are left with the shavings of a bar of soap. Ditto that for all the hand me down shoes with worn soles that we will be asking you to wear.
You have become quite a fan of Cheerios and other finger foods. It’s amazing to see how proficient you are with only those two lower teeth and how much you enjoy the quest of getting the food into your mouth. I know we have been a little slow on introducing the “messy” finger foods, but we’re hoping that your dexterity improves a little bit before we commit to things like bananas and avocadoes. This will mean that I will definitely have to start mopping and bathing your more often.
We are all in agreement that baby socks are for the birds. The only purpose they serve is to be lost or chewed. Even though you still love to chew on things, you are making it known that you’re even more interested in playing with real toys. You love to play with your stacking cups or interactive toys that have lots of buttons to push. You also love when we build tall towers of blocks for you to knock down, which I find cathartic too. Sometimes you get frustrated with your toys because you can’t make them work the way you want them to. Kind of like I get frustrated when I can’t get Colin to cooperate with me … although you get over it way faster than I can. I like that about you.
You’ve had a runny nose for over three weeks now. You’ve been such a champ about it – I don’t know that I would have a similarly good attitude about being utterly dependent on another person for tissue. I feel terrible when I’ve been multitasking and fail to notice when you start looking like a walrus with snot hanging all the way down to your lower lip. I would completely understand if you decided to make more of a stink about that. I can tell that it is bugging you a little because you now willingly allow me to use the nose plunger. I suppose you would rather surrender to the unnatural method of nasal irrigation than have mucous mixed in with your yogurt.
Clapping is your new favorite thing to do. You always seem genuinely surprised and delighted when your hands successfully find each other. Your brothers are especially excited about this new development because now they can get you to do a trick on command. Since we don’t and probably will never have a dog, I’m afraid that this might be a recurring theme in your life. However, because you think that your brothers are the best thing since breastfeeding, you appear to not mind the “wrestling” and dirty four year old fingers in your mouth as much as I do just watching it. Thanks goodness you are a sturdy boy with above average balance. Any other baby in our house might spent a lot more time toppled over screaming for that big boy to please stop assuming that just because you can clap, you are not yet able to catch blocks.
You have a lot of amazing skills as a baby, but one of them isn’t sleeping on the run. You really seem to need to have your bed to find sleep. I suspect that a big part of that is because you don’t want to miss anything when you are out and about. Your Dad says that running in the Baby Jogger is just about your favorite thing to do. I haven’t done that with you yet because I’ve been on a running hiatus for about a year now waiting to “get my body back” so that less of me is jiggling when I finally decide to strap on the running shoes. Since we stopped breastfeeding, there is a very important part of my body that has started to dramatically decrease in size which gives me hope that I will be able to run again without a lot of extra bouncing. I’m quite happy about that even though I do miss our special cuddle time. It’s not quite the same with the bottle, but man do I love how you lock in on me with your big blue eyes when I’m feeding you. Your eyes are such an amazing blue. People always mention that about you. I hope they stay that way because believe me, the ladies will find those irresistible one day.
You are babbling so much more now. I think you’ve figured out that to be heard, you need to pump up the volume. You don’t seem close to any discernable words yet. Like any mother, I’m hoping that you decide to make “Mamma” your first word but I do think that probability is higher that “Daddy” will be it. Not only is it easier to say, but just like your brothers – I think you’ve already figured out that your Daddy is extra special and that he too will be your hero.
With love,
Mamma
Tomorrow you turn nine months old which means that my body could theoretically be capable of birthing another baby eight weeks from now. Thankfully, that was not the recovery plan we were on. And we (your dad especially) are doing everything in our power to insure that you remain our last baby. Knowing that you are our last, I’ve been trying to savor every moment with you. To live in the present and not be obsessed with whether you can hear me perfectly or make the right number of vowel sounds. With your brothers I was so eager to get to the next milestone – anxious to know that all was well with their development, but with you – I only wish I could slow things down. And I’m not saying that because I know you are about to start crawling with purpose and change our lives forever. It’s just that I can’t rock your brothers to sleep anymore, or make them laugh by simply blowing on their faces. And so I want to enjoy these things with you as long as I can.
As you know, we haven’t totally settled on what to call you. Lawton. Lawton James. LJ. Lawton Jimmy. Plain ol’ Jimmy. It must be confusing to be called by so many different names, but you are responding to all of them. I keep wanting to call you Law, but it seems too grown up for you right now. I sometimes dream about hearing it over a PA system one day: “Law Ballbach for two points, two points Law.” It sounds so cool to me. I hope you end up liking your name(s) when you get old enough to have an opinion about it. Be glad that you weren’t born during the brief phase twelve years ago when I thought Forest might be an interesting name for a son. I doubt your Dad would have ever agreed to it during the name ideation phase (which in my world is a very long process), but I think I probably could have gotten anything I wanted in the 8-12 hours following childbirth – even Forest. That would have been scary had that happened though. Your nickname could have been Woody instead of Jimmy.
Your mobility is increasing with each day. We try to keep you contained to the living room rug, but you are finding your way to the edges of it with a combination of scooting and rolling. You have also decided that the edges of the rug are your MOST favorite thing to put in your mouth. I wish you could understand how dirty that really is. The rug mat has never been cleaned and it’s been lying in the same position since we moved in. Frankly I think it might be more sanitary to lick the bottom of my purse. You should know that as our third child, our hygiene standards are much lower than they once were. We do reuse unfinished bottles of formula and you are bathed sporadically at best, but we do feel strongly about keeping the rug out of your mouth.
You’ve been clearer recently that though you like virtually everything we put in front of you, that you would prefer that we stop feeding your yummy Spinach and Potatoes. I can’t say that I blame you; but when your Dad was at the grocery store two months ago he must have convinced himself that there would be no more jars of green vegetables until October or he was planning for lockdown. So needless to say there is still a lot of yummy Spinach and Potatoes to get through, and our family is all about finishing things off. This will become inconvenient to you one day in the shower when you are left with the shavings of a bar of soap. Ditto that for all the hand me down shoes with worn soles that we will be asking you to wear.
You have become quite a fan of Cheerios and other finger foods. It’s amazing to see how proficient you are with only those two lower teeth and how much you enjoy the quest of getting the food into your mouth. I know we have been a little slow on introducing the “messy” finger foods, but we’re hoping that your dexterity improves a little bit before we commit to things like bananas and avocadoes. This will mean that I will definitely have to start mopping and bathing your more often.
We are all in agreement that baby socks are for the birds. The only purpose they serve is to be lost or chewed. Even though you still love to chew on things, you are making it known that you’re even more interested in playing with real toys. You love to play with your stacking cups or interactive toys that have lots of buttons to push. You also love when we build tall towers of blocks for you to knock down, which I find cathartic too. Sometimes you get frustrated with your toys because you can’t make them work the way you want them to. Kind of like I get frustrated when I can’t get Colin to cooperate with me … although you get over it way faster than I can. I like that about you.
You’ve had a runny nose for over three weeks now. You’ve been such a champ about it – I don’t know that I would have a similarly good attitude about being utterly dependent on another person for tissue. I feel terrible when I’ve been multitasking and fail to notice when you start looking like a walrus with snot hanging all the way down to your lower lip. I would completely understand if you decided to make more of a stink about that. I can tell that it is bugging you a little because you now willingly allow me to use the nose plunger. I suppose you would rather surrender to the unnatural method of nasal irrigation than have mucous mixed in with your yogurt.
Clapping is your new favorite thing to do. You always seem genuinely surprised and delighted when your hands successfully find each other. Your brothers are especially excited about this new development because now they can get you to do a trick on command. Since we don’t and probably will never have a dog, I’m afraid that this might be a recurring theme in your life. However, because you think that your brothers are the best thing since breastfeeding, you appear to not mind the “wrestling” and dirty four year old fingers in your mouth as much as I do just watching it. Thanks goodness you are a sturdy boy with above average balance. Any other baby in our house might spent a lot more time toppled over screaming for that big boy to please stop assuming that just because you can clap, you are not yet able to catch blocks.
You have a lot of amazing skills as a baby, but one of them isn’t sleeping on the run. You really seem to need to have your bed to find sleep. I suspect that a big part of that is because you don’t want to miss anything when you are out and about. Your Dad says that running in the Baby Jogger is just about your favorite thing to do. I haven’t done that with you yet because I’ve been on a running hiatus for about a year now waiting to “get my body back” so that less of me is jiggling when I finally decide to strap on the running shoes. Since we stopped breastfeeding, there is a very important part of my body that has started to dramatically decrease in size which gives me hope that I will be able to run again without a lot of extra bouncing. I’m quite happy about that even though I do miss our special cuddle time. It’s not quite the same with the bottle, but man do I love how you lock in on me with your big blue eyes when I’m feeding you. Your eyes are such an amazing blue. People always mention that about you. I hope they stay that way because believe me, the ladies will find those irresistible one day.
You are babbling so much more now. I think you’ve figured out that to be heard, you need to pump up the volume. You don’t seem close to any discernable words yet. Like any mother, I’m hoping that you decide to make “Mamma” your first word but I do think that probability is higher that “Daddy” will be it. Not only is it easier to say, but just like your brothers – I think you’ve already figured out that your Daddy is extra special and that he too will be your hero.
With love,
Mamma
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Bald-By-Choice
All the parenting books I’ve read have a disclaimer that says something like this: “Your child is unique. His or her learning and growth rates may differ from other children the same age.” Which really is to say that given the uncertainty and risk inherent in all child interactions, they’re just guessing too.
I’ve been primed to look out for certain recognizable four year old behaviors:
1) Stills throw tantrums over minor frustrations.
Not pouring the milk on the cereal “in the right way” should qualify there.
2) Likes to shock others by using “forbidden words.”
Check, butthead.
3) Changes the rules of the game as they go along.
You get a turn after I take two turns, OK?
4) Persistently asks why; may name call, tattles freely.
But WHY can’t I call him poopyhead since he just called me stupid?
But here’s the one they didn’t warn me about:
5) May want to radically alter their appearance to express their individuality, like shave their head
????
So there it was. Right in the middle of dinner during a completely normal conversation, Colin announces to us that he wants to shave off all his hair.
“You mean get it really short, like a buzz cut?" I ask.
“No, I want to shave it all off so my head is smooth.”
Strike one.
“Oh, is it because you want to be like LJ who doesn’t have much hair yet?”
“Not really.”
Strike two.
“Oh, I know - is there a baseball player you really like that is bald?”
“Mom, Ichiro’s my favorite player and he HAS hair.”
Strike three.
“Mom, don’t you remember that guy that was at Uncle Matt’s Superbowl party? I want to look like him.”
That’s right. That prematurely balding thirty something year old guy that we just happened to share some chips and guacamole with over four months ago. That guy who’s name none of us could remember and who none of us have seen since. That guy who is now my son’s inspiration for wanting to be “bald-by-choice.”
This must be some early preparation for how I will handle tattoos and piercing. Which in my minds eye will not be handled with the same kind of grace and understanding that I believe I have achieved with allowing my four year old to dress himself. I accept that he only wears jerseys with numbers on them. I accept that he wears socks with his sandals. I accept any and all color combinations. I accept that if I am not diligent about removing clothes from his dresser that he has outgrown, that they are fair game to be worn no matter how small, how holey, or how high they come up.
I understand the role that fads play in children’s fashion. If not for fads, why else would I have worn jellies sandals, leg warmers, and shoulder pads in the mid 80s? I’m sure my parents weren’t exactly keen on me looking like a Line Backer with sweaters on my legs and some sorry plastic mesh on my feet, but I suppose they figured that I’d grow of it. At some point they had to know that I would realize that you didn’t need big shoulders to get noticed.
Bring on the baggie jeans. Bring on the IZOD polo shirts. Bring on the PINK IZOD polo shirt. I’m really for all of it.
BUT, I cannot, will not, should not allow him to shave his head. I will not allow him to go Britney on me. So it’s not just that being “bald-by-choice” is anything but mainstream, or that it conjures up images of neo-nazi skinheads, bikers, and convicts, but it’s that … well, I love Colin’s hair and I have a secret (or not so secret) wish for him to grow it long because I feel like he doesn’t have a “short haired kid personality.”
Brett just shook his head when I came out with that one. However, since I think he worried that I may start pining away for a girl, he graciously agreed to the growing Colin’s hair out experiment so long as I promised no ponytails or experiments with nail polish.
So Colin has been living with a full, bushy head of hair that seems to be growing wider instead of longer. Bedhead has new meaning with these locks. And as summer is now upon us, I see that living underneath all that hair may be a little warm and uncomfortable. But man, you should see how cute it is pulled back with a headband.
I’ve been working on Colin these past couple of days, pointing out how much his hair looks like his Daddy’s and how when it’s longer, you can see the waves in it. I’m having these conversations fully aware that my opinion is barely registering. I’m also fully aware that I’m trying to control his hair and that this behavior is not becoming to a mother. And that maybe my obsession with his hair might be the exact reason he wants to get rid of it.
So, I’ve let this one go. Sort of. Brett is on the hook to take the boys to the barbershop this week. My hunch is that with a tootsie roll for bribery and a barber that doesn’t speak very good English, Colin will come home sporting a short hair cut that has been dubbed the “ALMOST BALD KID’S SPECIAL.” With that we’ll get friends and family to call him “cue ball” for a couple of weeks.
I’ve been primed to look out for certain recognizable four year old behaviors:
1) Stills throw tantrums over minor frustrations.
Not pouring the milk on the cereal “in the right way” should qualify there.
2) Likes to shock others by using “forbidden words.”
Check, butthead.
3) Changes the rules of the game as they go along.
You get a turn after I take two turns, OK?
4) Persistently asks why; may name call, tattles freely.
But WHY can’t I call him poopyhead since he just called me stupid?
But here’s the one they didn’t warn me about:
5) May want to radically alter their appearance to express their individuality, like shave their head
????
So there it was. Right in the middle of dinner during a completely normal conversation, Colin announces to us that he wants to shave off all his hair.
“You mean get it really short, like a buzz cut?" I ask.
“No, I want to shave it all off so my head is smooth.”
Strike one.
“Oh, is it because you want to be like LJ who doesn’t have much hair yet?”
“Not really.”
Strike two.
“Oh, I know - is there a baseball player you really like that is bald?”
“Mom, Ichiro’s my favorite player and he HAS hair.”
Strike three.
“Mom, don’t you remember that guy that was at Uncle Matt’s Superbowl party? I want to look like him.”
That’s right. That prematurely balding thirty something year old guy that we just happened to share some chips and guacamole with over four months ago. That guy who’s name none of us could remember and who none of us have seen since. That guy who is now my son’s inspiration for wanting to be “bald-by-choice.”
This must be some early preparation for how I will handle tattoos and piercing. Which in my minds eye will not be handled with the same kind of grace and understanding that I believe I have achieved with allowing my four year old to dress himself. I accept that he only wears jerseys with numbers on them. I accept that he wears socks with his sandals. I accept any and all color combinations. I accept that if I am not diligent about removing clothes from his dresser that he has outgrown, that they are fair game to be worn no matter how small, how holey, or how high they come up.
I understand the role that fads play in children’s fashion. If not for fads, why else would I have worn jellies sandals, leg warmers, and shoulder pads in the mid 80s? I’m sure my parents weren’t exactly keen on me looking like a Line Backer with sweaters on my legs and some sorry plastic mesh on my feet, but I suppose they figured that I’d grow of it. At some point they had to know that I would realize that you didn’t need big shoulders to get noticed.
Bring on the baggie jeans. Bring on the IZOD polo shirts. Bring on the PINK IZOD polo shirt. I’m really for all of it.
BUT, I cannot, will not, should not allow him to shave his head. I will not allow him to go Britney on me. So it’s not just that being “bald-by-choice” is anything but mainstream, or that it conjures up images of neo-nazi skinheads, bikers, and convicts, but it’s that … well, I love Colin’s hair and I have a secret (or not so secret) wish for him to grow it long because I feel like he doesn’t have a “short haired kid personality.”
Brett just shook his head when I came out with that one. However, since I think he worried that I may start pining away for a girl, he graciously agreed to the growing Colin’s hair out experiment so long as I promised no ponytails or experiments with nail polish.
So Colin has been living with a full, bushy head of hair that seems to be growing wider instead of longer. Bedhead has new meaning with these locks. And as summer is now upon us, I see that living underneath all that hair may be a little warm and uncomfortable. But man, you should see how cute it is pulled back with a headband.
I’ve been working on Colin these past couple of days, pointing out how much his hair looks like his Daddy’s and how when it’s longer, you can see the waves in it. I’m having these conversations fully aware that my opinion is barely registering. I’m also fully aware that I’m trying to control his hair and that this behavior is not becoming to a mother. And that maybe my obsession with his hair might be the exact reason he wants to get rid of it.
So, I’ve let this one go. Sort of. Brett is on the hook to take the boys to the barbershop this week. My hunch is that with a tootsie roll for bribery and a barber that doesn’t speak very good English, Colin will come home sporting a short hair cut that has been dubbed the “ALMOST BALD KID’S SPECIAL.” With that we’ll get friends and family to call him “cue ball” for a couple of weeks.
And then, he’ll ask for some blonde highlights.
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