The incredible shrinking wardrobe

Rachel was picking out a jacket for Matthew from his closet. "I wan' blue jacket!" Rachel got it down. "Oh, too bad! Blue jacket too small!"

Can't trust those clothes. When you turn your back they start shrinking. Until you're old like Mom and Dad.

Dad loses a battle

We had a late dinner tonight. After it was done and Melissa was bathed it was half an hour past Matthew's bedtime, so I intended to put him to bed. "I need bath!"

"What you need is sleep, son." He didn't nap today and was cranky and whiny. Unsurprisingly, he took this opportunity to whine as well. Partway into his tantrum he thought better of it and went to Rachel. "Mama, I need bath!" Rachel thought this was a fine idea, so he came back to me. "Mama say otay! [okay]"

I was defeated, but I muttered something less than gracious along the lines of being ganged up on. Matthew didn't understand and thought I was still contesting his bathing priviledges. He went back to Rachel. "Mama, Dada l'rass me!" Neither Rachel nor I had any idea what he meant. We guess a few words. Then Rachel figured it out: "Was Dad harassing you?" "Yeah! Dada l'rass me!"

Hmmph.

Photos up

Those of you with access to my private section on flickr will see around 900 new photos. These are the ones that I had on my homebrew photo site before I decided this was getting out of hand and my wife would be _seriously_ pissed at me if the non-RAIDed disk on the 15 year old Sparcstation running the site went bad, and decided flickr's fee was worth not having to worry about backups and stuff. Also I believed them when they said they'd have grandparent-friendly features like one-click print ordering "just around the corner," which 6 months later obviously wasn't the case, but oh well. They'll get to it eventually; it's too much potential income not to. Right?

(Mom: this includes all the historical photos I scanned for you.)

On parenting

I posted this on carnageblender last night:

I'm so proud. My 3 year old son is playing Ghouls and Ghosts from the capcom collection for ps2. I know what he's playing without turning around, because I recognize the music.

That's my boy!

This morning he was excited to help Dad do the dishes, and so proud of helping Mom clean his room that he borrowed her phone to call me. ("Matthew?" I said. "Does Mom know you have her phone?" She didn't.)

Tonight we took Matthew to a party store to get Mom and Dad costumes. (Matthew and Melissa were each taken care of by a grandmother: they're going to be a tiger and a lion, respectively. So Rachel wanted me to be a bear, but I talked her out of it.)

All was well: I "zoomed" around outside with Matthew and we had a fun time. Then we went inside to see how Mom was doing. Matthew was still being good. But when Rachel dropped off the basket with me in the checkout line while she went to try to find someone to get her costume down, he threw a tantrum that he wanted to go with Mama. He'd been with me the whole time, totally fine, but now that wasn't good enough. I tried to reason with him. (Ha.) I told him if he kept it up I would spank him. His yells said, in effect, Whatever, Dad. You can't make me shut up. So (after the promised spanking) I trundled the basket off to Rachel from my position at the head of the very long line, handed Melissa back to her, and took Matthew out screaming under my arm to the car, where we stayed.

The ups and downs of raising a three year old.

Life with a 3 year old

I wake up from my nap to a commotion in the hallway.

"Wash your hands with hot water and soap! Don't touch anything! Hot water and soap! Hot water and soap! ... Yes, that's why I told you not to touch it! Hot water and soap!"

If I didn't know my son, I would have thought my wife had lost it. (He'd gotten into the raw steak Rachel was dicing for stroganov.)

In other news, Melissa can push herself up to her knees, but isn't quite sure what to do once she does. I predict she'll be crawling within a month.

Today is your birthday

Sunday was The Day: the day Matthew had been looking forward to ever since Dad's birthday earlier that week. Matthew opened his presents, and a good time was had by all. Dad was even able to glue back together a piece of his wooden train set that came broken. (Rachel found an outstanding train set for $25. Less than 1/4 the price of "Thomas the Train." I'm very glad I never got any of those videos for Matthew.)

But the birthday saga wasn't over yet. On Thursday, his joy school class had a belated birthday party for him, complete with crown and singing happy birthday. (Photo of Matthew proudly wearing his crown.)

This morning, the first thing he wanted was his crown. For the next hour, whatever he was doing, he'd start singing Happy Birthday to himself. ("Hap' birsday TO you, Hap' birsday TO you... Hap' birsday Wawa...") Sometimes I'd sing it with him which pleased him very much.

Finally I prevailed on him to sit and eat his toast. He got in his chair, but then more important matters got his attention: he faced himself in the mirror and sang Happy Birthday again, admiring his regal birthday crown.

... and speaking of the capcom collection

I played Final Fight--2 player co-op--with Matthew last night, up to the 3rd level. The one with the flames that come from everywhere and toast you. This was frustrating for a kid who barely gets the analog stick.

So this morning he asked to play the "new game, hit bad guy" again. Sweet! I set it up for him while I played with Melissa. When she was ready to take a break in her swing, I joined Matthew for the game. He's been making good progress, mostly by taking advantage of the small amount of damage all enemies on-screen take when you die. (Capcom, fortunately, gives you basically infinite lives, or I would have a very frustrated three-year-old.)

"No, Dada! I do it! You ea' cereal!"

Hey, youngster! Whose game do you think this is, anyway!

My new favorite fast food

We ate at Arby's last night, because it was next to the GameCrazy store where I bought Capcom Collection. (There are something like 20 games included, but the best are Final Fight, Ghouls & Ghosts, Street Fighter 2, and Forgotten Worlds.)

It turns out that Matthew can eat an Arby's sandwich without dropping the beef all over the table, getting frustrated, and ruining everyone's dinner. This is incredible. Something about it just makes it hold together better than your average sandwich. (And don't even think about feeding a 3 year old a hamburger; within seconds the bun will be in one place, the patty in another, and the condiments all over the 3 year old. Of course, any attempts by his parents to help before the disaster are rebuffed.)

I forsee many roast beef sandwiches and BLTs in my future.

Daddy's boy

It's a rainy day. Rachel calls me up to say hi. Of course Matthew wants his turn on the phone.

"Hi, Matthew!"

"Hi Dada. I home."

"Yes, you're home."

"Dada... you come home?"