Matthew's new room

Yesterday I finally finished the New Room. I tend to underestimate the work involved in projects and overestimate my time, and this was no exception. I must admit, though, that Jonathan did warn me. I painted our guest room a robin's egg blue (I took M to the store and he selected the color) and put in wainscotting and a chair rail which where painted white. Matthew's old room will be the new guest room once I get it painted as well. It was difficult playing the part of Bob Villa and Mama. No sooner did I get the circular saw set up or the paint can opened than some small person ugently needed me. Hence it took me a month to complete. Added to that Matthew wanted to "help." Paint and three-year-olds are a messy proposition. But it is Done. I am rather proud of the way it turned out. (I'll see if I can get Jonathan to link some pictures). More importantly Matthew is thrilled. "WOW! My new room! Tanks Mama! Mama Best!" Ahhh. For you anytime.

-Rachel

[Jonathan: here they are -- http://flickr.com/photos/30305691@N00/sets/1377661/]

Great inventions

I've long been a fan of the mostly-forgotten inventor of the air conditioner. Some guy who started Carrier, I think. How many places would be unlivable, or at least impossible to work in, without A/C? Just in the USA there's a lot of them, including most of the east cost where it gets unbelieveably humid in the summer. (This is perhaps the biggest reason behind my resolve to never live there again.)

So the A/C guy gets my "probably the most important underappreciated invention of the 20th century" award.

But the vacuum cleaner guy is closing in. Almost every night Melissa falls asleep to the soothing roar of our Hoover. Without that, she just keeps fussing, increasingly cranky and increasingly unlikely to rest long enough to forget why she's angry and sleep.

My theory is, she thinks something like this: "Wow, that thing is way louder than I am. I guess my work yelling at Mom is superfluous. Now I can sleep."

Bonus extra subject

This isn't a separate post because (a) it's short and (b) Rachel already gets on my case about how many defecation-related posts I've made. So I'd like to stress for the record that this one was her idea.

Matthew postponed his BM today until just before bedtime in a cunning ploy to stay up longer. (I think we're losing the bedtime war. Tonight he was up til almost 9.) "Are you all done?" I called out. "No! Almos' done!"

After he was through, he gave the "all done" call and I wiped his butt. "I make five poops!" he announced. Uh... okay. Well done. Let's flush and wash your hands. "Dada, count poops!" he insisted, motioning towards the turd-infested bowl.

I don't think I'm an excessively sqeamish man, but absent a better motivation for compliance than potentially starting a tradition that could prove rather embarassing among polite company, I declined. Then I flushed it myself to prevent further discussion.

[Rachel's note: I was joking. I didn't seriously intend for Jonathan to write about that.]

The apple orchard

Matthew was so disappointed when we left the orchard earlier this week, that I promised him that we would come back. So today I bundled up M&M and we met my friend Jessica and her crew there. It's a really kid-friendly orchard. They have large groups of 1st graders tour the farm. Jessica's two daughters and Matthew were the only little kids at there at the time, but an orchard worker offered to take them on a hayride. Needless to say, the kids were thrilled. They really went out of their way to make sure our kids had a good time. On top of the hayride, Matthew polished off a gala apple, learned about making apple-cider and sampled some, got a coloring booklet on Johnny Appleseed (in which he colored all the apples blue, but that's another story), charmed the lady out of not one but two lollipops, and of course picked apples. Little boy heaven. Really wished I remembered the camera! Now I need to make applesauce and pie out of all the apples we brought back. Mmmm.

-Rachel

Making Faces

One of Melissa's favorite ways to play is making faces in the mirror at me. She's quite good at copying some silly expressions. (Tongue out and in, raised eyebrows, surprised expressions etc) She gets her whole body into it. When I make a face that particularly delights her, she throws all her limbs into motion and chuckles with baby pleasure. Looking at her today, I think she got my eye shape if not color. They crinkle into two cresents when she laughs. This is another difference I've noticed between Matthew and Melissa. Melissa is much more interested in faces (both watching and making) than Matthew was.

-Rachel

What a stubborn son I have!

Jonathan is right, I haven't been pulling anywhere near my share in posts. I'm trying to make up for it now.

Right now Matthew is in his room. In an effort to enforce the wearing of clothing, I instituted a new rule "Thou shalt wear at least underwear while in the presence of the rest of the family or remain in thy room." Since it is getting colder, pants and shirts are strongly encouraged as well. He's been testing this new rule for the past hour. Rather than yelling at him to get dressed (this uses too much of my energy and isn't very effective) , I've just shooed him back to his room. I've decided I've been expending too much energy lately on things I can't control and it's been wearing me out. (I can't make him eat, sleep, or get dressed- so I'm not going to try anymore.) I don't like being a grumpy frazzled mom. From now on my goal is to conserve my energy and instead use up his. He's got plenty to spare!

There he is now- dressed! He's cheerful, I'm cheerful this is good.

-Rachel

The semi-reluctant cloth diaperer

Melissa seems to have inherited the same sensitive skin that Matthew had. I tried all kinds of different brands of disposable diapers and barrier creams to alleviate the chronic rash, but to no avail with him. Finally I tried cloth diapers and it cleared right up and I didn't need to use zinc oxide again. Seems to be the same for Melissa, so that's what I've been using the past 2 months. I decided though, that since I am saving so much money on diapers, I could use some cute diaper covers. I've been using the utilitarian prowraps and bummis pants, but they're not cute. So I spurged a little on different types of covers and prints to try out. I now have little froggy and bee prints in soft fleece covers. I've decided that my kids' sensitive skin has a silver lining- no disposable diapers are as soft or sweet looking as cloth diapers. Now that I'm back in the swing of things it's really not much more work either. The flat prefolds make good toys too. Melissa likes to chew on them and Matthew turns them into capes, hats, and plays peekaboo with them.

-Rachel
[Jonathan's note: also, Rachel's husband put her last set of diaper covers in the dryer, ruining them. I knew this was bad for them but I was half asleep at the time and forgot.]

-Rachel's comment: Well some of the covers aren't supposed to go in the dryer, but they still seem to work. No harm done.

Only a matter of time now

Melissa crawled last night, just a bit. I got some of it on video. I'll see if I can post it on Google. Pretty cute stuff -- she was grinning and so pleased with herself that sometimes she'd forget to hold herself up and just fall forward. "I'm such a big girl now!"

Wrapped Presents

I left Matthew and Melissa together for two minutes today while I took a much needed potty break. Matthew took it upon himself to entertain his baby sister in my absence. Suspicious I called him to me. "What are you doing Matthew?" "Give presents baby sister, see!" He had gotten some tissue paper and wrapped her toys in it. "Baby like presents!" I laughed and said ok, just don't give baby sister the paper. When I emerged from the bathroom, Melissa had a pile of toys on her and was surrounded by a circle of tissue paper. Matthew's a good big brother.

-Rachel

Matthew Tiger

For about two weeks now Matthew's been calling himself "Wha hew Ellis." While driving in the car after receiving a tiger costume from Grandma, he announced, "Wha hew Tiger." "Aren't you Matthew Ellis? "No. Wha hew Tiger. No Wha hew Ellis." Ok. He was so excited to be a tiger for Halloween. He roared at Melissa to their mutal amusement. Baby and little boy giggles ensued. Very cute.

-Rachel

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?"

Mini-Monk

I was rereading some old posts (another reason I'm glad I write this, even though it's hard to find time) and came to October 1 from last year, where Matthew seemed to have inherited his dad's inability to sense dirt.

Such is not the case now. Any time his clothes get the least bit dirty, he announces, "take shir' off! launry! [laundry]" And so on for other articles of clothing. We joke that he's our mini-Monk (after the fictional detective with OCD).

Rachel says he couldn't have gotten it from her, since she is not that bad. Still, I think it's pretty clear that he definitely didn't get that from my side, either -- although his grandfather is reasonably fastidious about most things. (And my father's father even more so, I hear.)

In other news, I went to my mission's reunion tonight. ("Enter Sandman" came on the radio as we drove over. How apropos.) Some people I barely recognized. Others had hardly changed at all. Huh. Wonder which side I fell on.

I also noticed that Jeff Stokes and I were the only ones sporting facial hair. President Watts didn't say anything. I wonder if he's mellowed a bit.

That's my boy

On Tuesday, Rachel ruled that Matthew Shall Not Watch TV With Dad in the Morning. Period.

Crap.

So Wednesday morning I tried the next best thing: I got out the Matthew-sized travel mouse and looked up some Flash games.

I tried this with him about 6 months ago and it was a total failure. He could not associate the mouse's movements with the screen pointer. He got frustrated, I got frustrated, even Rachel got frustrated when she tried to teach him. Hence, the TV-in-the-morning-while-Dad-pulls-pillows-over-his-head-on-the-couch-and-tries-to-sleep-another-ten-minutes routine.

But Wednesday, he was ready. He wasn't very good at it, and he still got frustrated when he moved the mouse too far outside his flash window, but he could understand the basics of, "I move the mouse left, the little guy on the screen moves left." Hurray!

So now our mornings go something like this:

1. 6:00-6:30: Matthew wakes up. I tell him to go back to bed; it's still dark outside.
2. 7:00: Matthew gets up for good. (He's surprisingly puctual for a kid without any clocks in his room.)
3. 7:01: Matthew asks for "crackers and cheese." (His breakfast of choice for the past couple weeks. Both his parents enjoy crackers and cheese, so I guess it's not hard to see where he gets it, but neither of us eat that for breakfast. I'm more of a cereal guy, myself, and Rachel's into actually cooking stuff like eggs and oatmeal.)
   
4. 7:01: I tell Matthew he can have his C&C if he first eats something healthy. Bananas or slices of toast frequently appear here. Hey, it's better than jello and oreos.
   
5. 7:45-ish: Matthew finishes breakfast. (He's easily distracted. This morning, for instance, the garbage truck, peeing, getting on a jacket -- "I told [cold], Dada" -- and his baby sister all took significant amounts of attention.) Daddy busts out Rachel's dell for him to play a flash game on.
6. Hopefully he doesn't get bored until I start to get ready for work around 8:30. Otherwise we have to move on to messier activities, like destroying magazines with scissors.
   

The difference between Daddy and Mommy

Melissa spent a few minutes tonight playing with my beard. She thought that was pretty strange stuff. I could almost see her thinking, "How very strange. Mommy's face doesn't feel like this!"

Then she started pulling it, which brought a swift end to that experiment.

Comparison shopping

I took Matthew until 2:00 today. It was a heroic effort. My wife has one of the hardest jobs I know.

We stopped at a dollar store about 11:30. (On the way to the dollar theatre -- Dad's a big spender.) I told Matthew he could pick one item from the store. Almost the first thing we saw walking in the door was a row of plastic battle-axes. He chose that. "All right."

Next we came to some swords. Cool ninja swords with a sheath, and a (safe, plastic) throwing star too. "I wan' sword! I wan' sword!"

"Do you want the axe, or the sword?" This was not a question easily answered. After some thought, he decided, "sword." "Then you need to put the axe back," I told him, and he did -- at a run.

For the next ten minutes we wandered about the store, which was full of things a little boy wants. He'd mutter to himself, as we passed particularly tempting items: "Ball... sword. Sword." "Car... sword. Sword." "Baloon... sword. Sword."

So Matthew walked out of the store with a new sword and without whining.

A boy and his watch

Matthew's been trying to get me to take him outside all morning. Poor harassed dad.

He came up to me at about 9:30, "watch" (Jimmy Neutron compass with armband) in hand. "Wash! Up high!" he demanded, pointing at his upper arm where he likes to wear it.

"No, not with that shirt; it would be too tight. I'll put it on down low."

Once it was on, Matthew looked at it and declared, "Five o'clock! Time doh [go] owsi'e! [outside]"

The fair

Matthew was a Good Boy yesterday, so we took him to the state fair.

I myself am not a fairgoer by nature. I went to Comdex once, before it started sucking and then dying. That was pretty cool. But animals and overpriced rides and bad food and stalls selling kitsch? No thanks.

Which is probably why I didn't think to take the camera: who would want to record such things? It just didn't occur to me. But with kids along you should always take a camera in case they do something cute, such as the "little farm hands" fair attraction (which, among its other virtues, was free).

Matthew got a (Matthew-sized) basket and an apron. He scooped some corn out of a bin and put it in his basket, before his parents could help him put it in a bag as instructed. He wanted to stay and be the Official Corn Scooper but we moved him along.

He planted a wooden carrot seed. Picked up a plastic potatoe and apple. Rode a tricycle "tractor" with an appropriately-sized bale of hay. "Milked" a wooden cow and fed it his corn. (I'm not sure what the white liquid was, but it smelled kinda nasty.) At the end he got to choose from various farm treats (still free! w00t!); he chose strawberry-flavored milk.

That was the high point of the fair from Matthew's perspective. He also liked the "Giant Yellow Slide" that charged $3 for the priviledge of me taking Matthew down it on my lap. (Rachel said he looked like he was in Boy Heaven, though, so I guess it was worth it.)

We also saw a bird show that left Matthew and Dad getting restless after about 20 minutes. (After about 30 we talked Rachel into coming with us down to the slide.) And a magician/comedian that Matthew's parents enjoyed far more than he did.

Matthew's favorite was probably the Basilisk tank the National Guard had standing near the slide. He would have played there until they closed the fairgrounds and kicked him out, I think. (I'm not having any luck googling Basilisks in this context, so maybe that's not the kind of tank it was after all. Still, it was very cool.) He climed in and looked around excitedly. "Wawa hewoh [hero]! Tank shoot bad die [guy]!" He was in Guy Heaven. When I told Rachel about this, she started giggling. "This kid is so full of testosterone! That came from you! Not me!" Maybe it's just as well I didn't mention how manly I felt next to that tank. Shoot bad guys. Awww yeah.

Oh, and Dad left Mom's purse at the burger stand for about 10 minutes. Someone handed it inside the stand where it was waiting when I arrived breathless to look for it. When two of your hands are full of food and your third is collaring your three-year-old, it's easy to forget little things like that...

My David

One of Matthew's favorite book series is one about a kid named David who gets into all sorts of trouble and doesn't mind his mom too well.

Tonight, out of the blue, while harranguing his mother to read him a David book, he announced, "My David ah' [at] Mwama [Grandma's] house."

Awww.

Soup and toast

Tonight, Rachel proposed split-pea soup for dinner. She cooked up a huge amount a few months ago and "canned" (pressure-bottled) most of it, so all I had to do was go downstairs and bring up a quart bottle.

Matthew met me at the top of the stairs. "Don' want soup!" he announced. Rachel wanted to get him fed and abed quickly and wasn't inclined to argue with him. I cast about for something healthy enough to meet Rachel's approval, but easy enough for Dad to handle.

"Okay, son. Would you like toast or soup?" Hey, it was whole-wheat bread.

He tried to escape my dichotomy with a third option ("cheese!") but I was not to be swayed. Another night, perhaps, I would have gotten him cheese for dinner, but he had diarrhea today so cheese was off the menu. Eventually he settled on toast.

I got him the toast, and some for myself. He likes company eating and Rachel was nursing Melissa, who had turned decidedly grumpy. He was in no hurry, so Rachel sweetened the deal: "You can have cotton candy [from our trip to the fair yesterday] if you eat the toast all gone."

I was halfway done by now. "Daddy's eating his toast all gone. Daddy's going to get candy!"

Matthew became alarmed. "Dada ea' blue tandy! Blue! tandy!" Blue candy? Huh?

He stood up on his chair, facing the refrigerator where we'd put the candy he brought home from the birthday party in the hopes it was out of Matthew's reach. (So far, so good in that respect.) "Blue tandy Dada tandy! Dada don' tush [touch] Wawa tandy!" A light dawned. I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but I like an occasional Jolly Rancher, and Rachel had purchased a bag for me. It stood on top of the refridgerator, and yes, it was blue. Rachel and I started laughing. "Yes, Daddy will have the blue candy. Daddy won't touch Matthew's candy."

Somewhat mollified, he still wanted to cover all the bases: "Baby sister don' tush Wawa tandy!" We assured him that Yes, his sister was too little to have Matthew's candy.

Not long afterwards he had a huge barf (he warned us first, so we had a bowl ready: good boy!) and Rachel decided he could dine on popsicles instead, but that's another story.

A dark day

Matthew figured out how, with enough effort, he can remove the anti-peanut locks around almost every doorknob in the house. This Is Bad.

As I write this, for instance, he is 20 minutes past bedtime, opening and closing his bedroom door, just a hair.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

I am going to go send him back to bed but he will just get up again. It's that kind of night.

It's hard being 3

Hard on your parents, anyway.

Rachel and I were going to take Matthew to the fair yesterday. I went in two hours early to work so I could leave in plenty of time.

But Matthew decided he was going to be grumpy and not mind his mom. So, just as he missed that birthday party a few months ago, he missed going to the fair.

Too bad; we're doing our product beta launch on Wednesday so I might not have another chance to take him.

A birthday party

Matthew went to his first birthday party on Saturday. (He was invited to his friend Mason's party a couple months ago, but couldn't attend due to high tantrum levels. He spent the party time taking an involuntary nap instead.)

He had cake and ice cream, played with Michael's toys with at least a dozen other boys (Michael has brave parents), and generally enjoyed himself very much. A good time was had by all, except the dog, whose foot I stepped on when I picked Matthew up. (It tried to trip me, I swear.)

Matthew came home with a brown bag full of various forms of processed sugar. When Rachel saw it, she said, "I should have let Matthew give Michael your toy!" I'd picked up a very cool toy gun that shoots rubber discs, but I got one for Matthew too and it turned out to be very obnoxiously noisy, and Rachel wasn't about to inflict that on a fellow mother. But for a mother who gave her son candy to take home, she decided, it would have been appropriate after all.

... In other news, Matthew's picking up words fast enough that Dad has fallen behind in translating ability. (His pronunciation is still lacking, so you still need the Matthew -> English key.) This morning, for instance: Matthew heard me getting ready for work and woke at 6:30. I told him it was still dark outside and he should go back to bed. "Chichi breh [bread]," he told me. "Mama say okay."

Matthew has discovered who the real boss is in our house, and often tries to con me into letting him do something or have something he shouldn't by claiming his mom gave it her blessing. I'm wise to him now, but I didn't know what Chichi bread could be.

I asked my wife. "What is Chichi bread?" "Gingerbread," she translated sleepily. Ohhhhh. "And do you let him eat that in bed?" I was pretty sure of the answer. "No," she said, "it gets crumbs all over."

So I got Matthew some warm milk and a granola bar (I know what you're thinking, but it's less crumbly than gingerbread, apparently) and told him good night.

Scooter

Last night, Melissa settled on a new goal: crawling.

Every time I put her on her back -- on the bed, on the couch, on the floor -- she almost immediately starts rolling onto her tummy, where she commences squirming mostly-aimlessly.

Then she gets frustrated because she's only moved a few inches and yells at Dad. Like it's my fault...

Good thing that baby gate for the stairs is on order already.

All choked up

Melissa is normally a mellow girl, but at nights if she wakes up to discover herself anywhere but next to Mama, she completely loses it. Dad is not acceptable. Every so often Rachel "lets" me have a turn, just to make sure Melissa hasn't changed her mind on this score, and Melissa turns the full power of her baby fury on me.

She starts loud and gets louder, and louder, and louder, until she hacks and coughs on the spittle she's spraying. (Then continues where she left off -- even louder, if possible, to make up for lost time.)

Then Rachel takes her and she is content. Is that a glare in her eyes as she starts to nurse?

I didn't know the origin of the expression "choking with rage" before Melissa.

Matthew corrects The Incredibles

Watching Matthew's favorite movie, Matthew paid more attention to the first Edna scene than he has before. "You're the best, E."

No, Matthew corrected. "Dada bes'! Dada bes'!"

And for good measure, "Wawa tyute [cute]. Mama zsayzso [angel]."

Wawa doh work

Matthew came out of the bathroom this morning carrying a handtowel and demanding aid. "Help me! Help me!" His hair was soaked. I helped him towel off. "Thank yoo Dada! Wawa hair wet! Wawa doh [go] work!"

Just like Dad.

Clarification

I had called to see what Jonathan would like to have for dinner. As far as working out, I have always discussed it as something both of us should do to get in better shape. We've got to last a long time to reap the benefits of grandkids someday, right? (Married men last longer than their single counterparts probably because of their wives' active interest in their health and well being.) Lest there be any doubt, I think Jonathan is even more handsome than when I married him.

-Rachel

A couple more firsts

Rachel called me at work today. I think she wanted to make sure I was going to be well-fed. (Then she tells me how I need to work out more or I'll keep getting fat.) (She only says the first part. The second is implied.)

Matthew wanted to talk with Dad. He told me that he went to the gym ("I mind teester! [teacher]") and other inconsequentials, some understood, some not. Then Rachel told him to say bye-bye. "Bye bye Dada! I wuv you!" Awwww.

Later, in the evening, we all went outside. Rachel was watering growing things, Matthew was playing with his new R/C stunt car, and I was planning to read the paper. Matthew brought me a plum from Rachel's year-old tree: "zsoosi! [juicy]" I took a bite and juice went all over. "Mmm! Yes, it is juicy! Thank you, Matthew"

He paused on his way back to his car. "You weltum! [You're welcome]"

Rachel tells me she hasn't heard that before, either (she did get a spontaneous "wuv you" first, though). Daddy scores on the Welcome!

Melissa rolls over

Melissa is now arching and rolling over. Actually this first occured several days ago. She seems pleased with this new skill. Perhaps she's calculating how this will aid in her primary goal in life- getting everything she sees into her mouth.

-Rachel

Dance Dance Dance!

I was reading on the couch when I saw Matthew crouched over Melissa. Uh oh I thought. When I asked him what he was doing he said "Baby dance!" He had his hands on either side of Melissa and was wiggling her back and forth. Melissa was gurgling and laughing with Matthew. "Dance, dance, dance!" They both were having a grand time.

-Rachel

The verbal peanut

Matthew is starting to string increasingly complex sentences together.

Today, for instance, we had a pillow fight on Dad's bed in the morning. It ended when Rachel called me away for something or other. When I came back I couldn't find the bed pillows. When Rachel lay down to nurse Melissa I had to bring one of the couch pillows in.

I figured the others would turn up, but they hadn't by the time we got back from church. "Matthew," Rachel asked, "where are Mommy and Daddy's pillows?"

He took off for the bedroom. Finding the door closed, he explained, "I hide Dada pillow bed." When the door was opened, he dove under the bed and retrieved the pillows.

Mama

We were reading a version of the scriptures for kids, and we came to a description of Jesus's birth: his mother was named Mary.

"Did you know your mama has a name?" I asked.

"Yeah!"

"What's Mama's name?"

"Mama!"

I think he's kind of shaky on the whole "name" thing. He's heard me call for Rachel, and imitated it himself at times. I guess he doesn't really associate it with her as an identifier... just something that whacky Dad yells sometimes when he's looking for Mama.

Smile update

For the past couple weeks Melissa has greeted her dad with a half hour of smiles every morning. What a pleasant baby!

Here's a few.

Things you never thought you'd say

"Matthew! Stop licking the air vent!"

"If you finish your cake, I'll let you have some chips."

Doh work!

Rachel was going to blog this but it's been a week, so I'll give you my second-hand account.

Rachel took Matthew outside to play early one morning after I'd left. (At least I think it was morning.) He ran into the garage and got his orange plastic car. "Wawa tiss Mama! [kiss!] Wawa tiss baby! [kiss!] Wawa doh work!" and he scooted off.

A well-equipped man

Rachel's grandfather Van Duker moved recently. In the process of packing up his workshop, her uncle Keith inventoried 5 socket sets and lost count around 3 dozen screwdrivers, among many other tools. Apparently, if he couldn't find the tool he wanted he just went out and got another instead of wasting time finding the old one.

That's a lot of screwdrivers.

The poop doesn't stop

This happened on Monday, but I thought this blog could stand to go at least a couple days between poop stories. Rachel wishes I would write about something else, but hey, she has the password too. (I tried to add her to the blog as a separate user, but blogger borked it up twice and when it finally went through it ate her post. Once again she wasn't on the userlist. Brilliant.)

I had gone to run errands with Matthew. On the way back I stopped to pick up Chinese food for dinner. I was placing my order with the takeout lady when Matthew started hopping around and grabbing his butt. "Poop firs! [first] Poop firs!"

I handed the lady a $20, picked up Matthew, and ran for the bathroom. I pulled his pants down to help him on the toilet -- he can get his pants off himself, but in an emergency Dad is faster -- and stopped. I was too late. There had been an explosion.

I tried to ease the pants off without getting poop all over and failed miserably. It was a disaster. A poop meltdown. The Chernobyl of poop.

A couple dozen moistened hand-drying-towels later, Matthew was clean but the pants were not. I seriously considered throwing them out, but my frugal nature prevailed and I wrapped the nastiness in some more hand towels.

The counter lady said there would be a 40 minute wait for the food. When I explained the situation she gave me my $20 back and we headed home with Matthew naked from the waist down in his car seat. (There was another guy at the counter with the air of fatherhood about him. "Forgot your diaper bag, huh," he said. "No; he's supposed to be potty trained," I replied. All bets are off though when your two year old has diarrhea.)

Shortly after arriving home he had to poop again. "This one is yours," I told Rachel.

He didn't quite make it. Fortunately,

• there was less poop in his system
• he did make it to the tiled bathroom area, away from the carpet
• it was already established that this one was Rachel's
  

After that we diapered him for the night.

Update on the hopping thing

Matthew now hops on one foot (mostly his right) with some facility.

Yesterday we went to the local Barnes & Noble so he could play with the train set and I could read Linux magazines while waiting. (Sort of a Mission: getyoursonoutofyourwife'shair thing.) We hopped on one foot all the way down the sidewalk.

We got some amused looks from the cafe patrons.

continuing adventures in poop

"Dad! Need wipe!"

Apparently Matthew had pooped in the toilet and needed me to wipe his butt. I grabbed a baby wipe and headed over.

It stunk.

My first wipe brought up WAY more poop than it should have. Then I saw the smudged TP in the bowl. Matthew had tried to wipe himself. Crap.

There was poop down his thigh, poop on his scrotum and even low abdomen, poop on the toilest seat...

I wiped the worst of it, then sat him in the tub to get the rest.

A rude awakening

I get up with Matthew as usual. Melissa needs to be fed so I leave her with Rachel.

Normal routine. Matthew goes to the bathroom. Needs new underwear since he got poop on the four pairs he wore yesterday. (This is normal behavior for him. Well, okay, the average is probably only 2 but 4 is not unusual. That kid has the leakiest butt EVER.)

I go back into our bedroom to find some underwear in the laundry basket. Melissa is done eating, so I pick her up and make typical Dad/daughter noises to her. ("Are you my sweet little girl? Do you have smiles for your dad?") She grins at me, then emits a HUGE poop. And it starts dripping through her shirt and onto my right foot.

"Help! Wipes!"

Rachel gets up groggily and hands me some wipes to stop the flow of liquid poop. I take Melissa to the changing table while Rachel tries to get it out of the carpet. Good timing, though; Rachel said she needed a new outfit anyway.

The table and the floor both required Heavy Duty toddler-cleanup supplies to get the stain out.

A great excitement

Rachel was putting Matthew to bed for the final time when he came rushing out of his room.

"Fire truck! Fire truck!"

We'd just had a brief power outage so I supposed it was possible that there was a fire truck in the neighborhood. We stepped out onto the front porch.

"See? Fire truck! Fire truck!"

No, I didn't see any fire trucks because there weren't any. I did HEAR several, though, racing off to the source of a huge pillar of smoke billowing over the houses in front of us. I tried to explain the difference between hearing and seeing but he wasn't paying attention.

"Fire truck! Fire truck!"

So I retrieved the book I was reading (1776) and sat down on the porch while Matthew enjoyed the smoke and the sound of sirens.

"Fire trucks! Nono! [water] Oh no! Too bad!"

All this and he got to postpone bedtime until the smoke and sirens died down!

A three-popsicle evening

Saturday night. Rachel is outside working on a trellis to hang from our back porch. I'm watching Melissa inside. We give Matthew a popsicle to help him listen to his mother. (Because if he doesn't, we can confiscate the popsicle.)

A few minutes later he comes in. "Posisle! Tids!" (Popsicles! Kids!) Rachel translates that he wants to take some out to share with the neighbor kids who have come out. At this point he's almost done with his own.

I give him a few and he heads out. There's one too many, so Rachel take it. Not for long: Matthew begs it off her as soon as he finishes his. I only find this out later.

Five minutes and he's back inside. "Posisle! Mama!" Sure, Rachel deserves one too. I hand him a blue one and he heads out again.

He never did give the blue one to his mom. I wonder: was this premeditated, or was the temptation of a popsicle in his hand just too much to resist?

Peanut gym

(Rachel made me write an entry for her cousin newsletter so I thought I'd share it here, too.)

Matthew is taking a gymnastics-for-kids-whose-parents-sign-a-waiver-saying-we-won't-sue-if-he-breaks-his-neck class. He gets quite a kick out of it. He tells anyone who will listen about the "big swing," which is what he calls the hanging rings. He also gets homework: Rachel gets to drill him on hopping on one foot and walking backwards. I've tried, without even registering.

Dad: “Come on, Matthew: let's hop like this."
Matthew: "Play outside! Play outside!"

Come to think of it, that's how most of my conversations with my son go.

The gym also offers "drop your kid off for all the running around and sugar-infused drinks he can handle" on Friday nights. For a nominal fee, of course. Matthew likes this even more than the actual class, if possible. (Rachel: "likes" isn't a strong enough word.) We literally had to drag him away, kicking and screaming. (Rachel: "I got him calmed down before we left. But he was not happy to see us.")

So Matthew and his parents both have something to look forward to on Fridays.

Melissa is smiling

Asleep in her swing and smiling to herself. Very cute. She must be having a good dream; now she's laughing through her nose.

Rachel: "I'll bet she's grinning about how she had her mom trying to keep her happy during church." She was a pill.

Kinda gives dad an inferiority complex. She smiles for Rachel almost every day. Now she's smiling when she sleeps. But smile for Dad? I've gotten two so far, and I've worked for those.

Peanuts

I asked Rachel what I should write about.

"Did you write about mimi tas?"

"Yes," I said. But then I googled it to be sure and it appears that I haven't. So: we taught Matthew that a polite young man says "excuse me" when he passes wind. He transliterated that into "mimi." Of course (perhaps since he is also taught to excuse himself for sneezing and yawning), in his two-year-old mind he has to explain why he's excusing himself. So, "Mimi tas" is his expression of, "Excuse me, I had gas."

Rachel also said I should write about Matthew's negotiating skills.

I've mentioned (or have I?) that Rachel's in the habit of giving Matthew a five-minute warning before taking him away from an activity he's enjoying. He often tries to bargain (punk little lawyer that he is already) but often bargains the wrong way: "No! TWO minutes!" We just laugh and don't hold him to it.

He does this with meals, too. "Eat two more bites." "No! FIVE bites!" Two and five are his favorite numbers; he's very clear on what two is, and five is a whole hand's worth of fingers; three and four are a little more nebulous, I think.

Maybe this is what's confusing him: when he's outside, about to be taken in, bigger is better. But when he's trying to eat as little chicken as possible before earning a treat, smaller is better. What a confusing world his parents came up with!

The peanut and the squeaker

We're still casting about for a nickname for Melissa. "Squeaker" is a good fit, except for her high-volume periods of baby rage that can last for two or three hours. My own suggestion for those times was "Fussmonkey." Maybe she will have two nicknames, but probably she won't end up with either really sticking.

Anyway. Besides the evening hours, there is one other time Melissa is markedly LESS mellow than her older brother. One of the surest ways to calm down a fussy Matthew was to take him for a car ride. I can't count how many times I took him on early morning rides in Provo while Rachel got some rest. I had to be careful to drive East, towards the sun, until he was well asleep, otherwise, the sun coming through the back window would keep him awake and angry.

Melissa's car seat has a collapsible cover, so the sun wouldn't be a problem. She just hates her car seat. Absolutely won't stand for it. The best you can hope for is that if she's already asleep, she won't wake up for 15 minutes. Once she's aware that she's in the seat (and she never takes longer than that to wake), she will yell with the volume turned to 11 until she gets out. She really goes all out; I'm half afraid she'll choke on her splittle sometimes.

In the car, she's definitely a fussmonkey.

They're breeding

The Sunday paper came with an advertising suplement. Matthew pronounced them the mama paper and the baby paper.

Melissa speaks

Well, not speaks, exactly. But she's mostly made grunts and hiccups to date.

She's been grinning at her mom in a happy contented baby fashion while nursing for a week or so now. Today she added cooing. Rachel tried the imitation game: opening her mouth, baby opened hers. Sticking out her tongue, baby stuck out hers.

Doesn't perform for Dad, though. Figures.

Choo choo

Matthew has a lego/duplo block train. Choo choo! This morning he whacked his rubber balls with a hammer for a while, then took them for a train ride, with the block stubs keeping them relatively stable. "Hang on tight, balls!" he told them. "Choo choo!"

Melissa likes her baths

I bathed Melissa again tonight. I think this is my second time bathing her, so yeah, this is one department Dad isn't pulling his weight in. But, it's not really a chore since she likes them so much.

She likes me splashing water across her, and particularly likes to twist her head to the side (usually her left) to get a drink of the water. She kept opening and closing her mouth and twisting her head after I took her out; when she realized that the water wasn't coming back she yelled at me for a while. So I put her in the swing, and she fell asleep.

Good baby.

(Far cry from her howling at Rachel and me until 11 and later, earlier this week.)

A walk with the peanut

I took Matthew and Melissa on a walk tonight. "Let's go for a walk, Matthew," I said.

Okay. "Help Grandma!" he said, as he looked for his shoes.

"Help... Grandma?" I wondered to Rachel.

"Because Grandma took him on walks."

Help Grandma!

All praise the vacuum

Melissa was on a rampage tonight, yelling at mom and dad for at least an hour straight. A lot like Sunday. Then Rachel suggested turning on the vacuum -- one of her old tricks to get Matthew to settle down.

I turned it on in the next room over. Melissa started at first, then apparently decided, "Wow, that's louder than I" and settled down.

Peanut existentialism

I sat Matthew on his dresser this morning to put his socks on him. I accidently knocked over one of his baby pictures as I did. "Uh-oh! Baby! Fall down!"

"These are pictures of you when you were a baby. Did you know Matthew was a baby once?"

"Yeah. White sock on."

I guess it will be a while before this "past" concept sinks in.

Boys

The Coverstons came over last night. Matthew and Ben (about 6 months older) shot each other with foam arrows, chased each other inside and outside, and generally had a great time for almost four hours.

Little boys need to play with other little boys.

Cleaning up

I sent Matthew to his room this morning. When I went to let him out, he was backing his Tonka truck up to his bookshelf, filling it with books, and dumping them out on his bed. "Teen up. Mess," he explained.

I don't know if his mother would agree that he was cleaning up, precisely, but I guess his heart is in the right place.

A new game

Matthew played a new game with Dad yesterday. [Note: I wrote this a while ago but didn't get around to posting it. "Yesterday" means "some time in late-ish May," not "May 28."]

We went outside and played on the neighbors' swings for a while. When he tired of that, Matthew took me over to where Rachel had hung a whiffle ball from our porch for him to swing at. "Dada hit ball!" Uh, okay. I'll hit the ball. Where's the bat? "Oh! Bat!" and he fetched the bat from its bin. Then he started running up the stairs to the porch.

Puzzled, I tapped the ball once, and twice. Then it started rising up towards the porch floor! Hey! Where's the ball going? Two-year-old chuckles ensued and Matthew grinned down at me from where he was pulling the ball up.

We played this for a while. He'd let me hit the ball a couple times, then raise it out of reach while I pretended to be puzzled and dismayed. He was enormously amused.

Four generations of ding-dongs

My father was a model of avoiding profanity. With the exception of one time I saw him clobber his thumb while nailing a project together (he lost most of the nail later), the worst he ever said was darn, dang it, or, perhaps most idiosyncratically, "ding dong it!"

I didn't realize I used the expression myself quite so much until I heard Matthew, exasperated with something, say, "ding dong!" in a tone just like my dad's. From father, to son, to son.

And my mother out here for a visit just told me that my father got it himself from his.

Makes me proud, it does.

Another one of those days

Watching Matthew outside. He started pulling at his butt. "Ow! Ow!" Do you need to poop? "Poop!" So we headed in. At the bathroom he decided he really needed to pee instead. Okay. Peeeeeeeeee. Move his stool over to the sink. Get up to turn on the water...

POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP.

Pretty nasty. At least he didn't have diarrhea. Still, it was a fairly loose poop.

I wasn't pleased.

Cars and trucks and things that go

is the correct title of the Richard Scarry's book I mentioned.

It's the new "read this with me every time I take a nap or go to bed book."

The coolest thing is the "Find goldbug" minigame. So far I have found him on the first dozen pages or so, EXCEPT FOR THE FIRST. This is driving me a little bit nuts. But Matthew gets a kick out of finding him, and I guess I do too. :)

Revenge pee

Matthew peed on the floor 3 times today to get back at his parents. The last time was for me, after I spanked him for headbutting his sister. Before that, he did it twice when Rachel told him he had to pee in the toilet before having some gummi bears: once when she informed him of the way it was going to be, and again when she took him into the bathroom to get anything else out.

On a lighter note (although that's probably plenty amusing to everyone who didn't have to wipe the pee up), Matthew's already correcting his dad. I was reading Richard Scarry's "stuff that goes" book or whatever the title is, and pointed out a red truck. "Orange!" he said. On closer examination I admitted he was correct.

Not that this kid needs more assertiveness. But I'm told I was precocious that way, too, so I guess I can't complain.

Melissa has Matthew beat

in 11 days she has gone through over 130 diapers.

Peanut maturity

Rachel was putting Matthew down for his nap, a process that involves as much stalling as possible on his part. Meanwhile, Melissa slept quietly on my shoulder as I congratulated myself on my good luck. (I'd been all set to put Matthew down, but he said, "Mamma nap! Dada hold baby!")

Rachel's mom said that she remembered Matthew at Melissa's age, and there was no way he would just go to sleep like that, even as a newborn. Very true. Then she added, But you know, I wouldn't have been able to just leave the bathroom door open for any of my kids.

We couldn't leave it open for Matthew for the first couple years, either. Shredded toilet paper was about the tamest thing he did. But after he started potty training it seems that he understands that if he wants bathroom access, he'd better not pull any of that kind of crap anymore.

It's progress.

Melissa's Birth

I'm writing this several months after the fact (August), but I'll just slip it into May's posts...

Melissa was due the 7th of May, but on the 6th I decided to see the midwife, Rebecca, and see if she could "stir things up" as she described it. She stripped the membranes and gave me some blue and black cohosh to see if we could get things started. This was at nine in the morning. Rebecca greeted us in her scrubs- apparently another lady was in labor at the birth center. I thought this was a good sign.

I was pretty anxious to have this baby soon, because it is very uncomfortable being nine months pregnant. I do believe that the last month exists to get women to look forward to labor. In addition, my mother was in town for two more weeks, and I really wanted her help for after the baby was born.

I played soccer with Matthew and did some weeding that morning, but didn't feel any contractions until sometime around 1 pm. Unlike my son's birth, these started far apart and mild. I walked, jumped, and swayed back and forth in an effort to bring them on harder. Around 3 I needed to pause and relax to get through them. At 4:30 I called Jonathan and the midwife. Rebecca suggested I come to the birth center just to see how things were going after I mentioned I wasn't sure if I was being premature in calling. Jonathan came home and we scurried through the house to pack last minute items for the birth center (contact lense cases, hairbrushes, rice sock, things of that nature). I also laid out things for my Mom for Matthew's bedtime and with lots of kisses and hugs we left for the birth center.

We joked and laughed in the car between contractions and the pain and discomfort blissfully faded after each contraction (another major difference between my first and second's births- no constant backache!). Then we got stuck in traffic and the contractions increased duration and lessened in recovery time. It got to be pretty uncomfortable. Jonathan called the midwife and told her we were running late due to traffic. We arrived at about a quarter to 6. Before getting comfortable in our room, our midwife wanted to monitor the contractions and record the baby's response to them. That meant more sitting in a chair with monitors strapped across my belly. Yuck. Our little one must have been asleep though, because it took a while to get three accelerations of the baby's heart rate in response to the contractions. With a warm rice sock strategically placed, we interrupted our baby's slumber and got the last acceleration on paper.

My first request was to enter the tub. The water was heavenly for the contractions. Rebecca called the warm water "a giant rice sock" which I feel is an apt description. Jonathan held my hand, just loving me, which is what i needed. He is a wonderful support to me during labor, and I don't know how I'd get through it without him. When I entered the water I took off my watch and lost all contact with time. I didn't look at a clock until some time after the birth so I'm a little hazy about the timing of events. After a while even the water didn't help as much so I thought I'd try the birth ball. I sat on the ball and rested my head on the bed. Jonathan supported my back with his hands, but I didn't need much pressure on my back (unlike Matthew's birth). After a few very intense contractions on the ball I opted for the tub again.

At this point the contractions were right on top of each other with no rest. Jonathan continued to hold my hand and I rested my head on the side of the bathtub. I tried to will all of my muscles to relax and let the water support my body, but it got to the point where relaxation was impossible and endurance kicked in. Before Matthew's birth we learned visualization techniques such as envisioning each contraction as a wave, or the cervix as a beautiful flower opening- but those aren't helpful to me in the thick of things. Damned flower! This hurts! (I'm not a swearing woman, so I didn't say anything, but I confess that I thought it). Instead of visualizing, I just thought with each contraction, "I can do this one, it will be over soon." I know Rebecca kept Jonathan supplied with crackers and juice and made the surroundings more comfortable, but I was focused pretty inward at this point and not entirely aware of what was going on. Jonathan and the midwife also chatted between contractions, but I have no idea what they discussed.

I don't think much time had elasped since I returned to the tub when a wave of nasuea hit me. Jonathan handed me a wastebasket just in time. I then asked Rebecca to check the dilation because I was getting tired and discouraged. She said she would, but she thought I was fairly far along. If I was still at a three (what I was when she stripped the membranes that morning) then we would discuss other options. (What I really needed was encouragement that birth was soon). I stepped from the tub, lost my lunch again (in the wastebasket) and simultaneously felt my membranes break. Not a glamorous sight.

I lied down on my side on the bed for a few contractions with a pillow from home between my knees. Our midwife offered to cover the pillow with chux pads lest any blood get on it, but the last thing I wanted was the pillow moved for even a moment. If the pillow got ruined, so be it, at the time it would have been worth the sacrifice. (It actually escaped unscathed.) Lest there be any doubt I informed Jonathan and the midwife that it hurt. I also kept thinking that this had better be transition because I couldn't take much more. Rebecca told me that she could tell that Jonathan would labor for me if he could. I responded that I knew that. She then checked me - a ten. I asked her if she was sure. She said she was sure she couldn't feel any cervix. This brightened my mood considerably. Rebecca then suggested I try sitting on the toilet to bring the baby down. She informed me several days later that the baby was at a -1 when she checked, so pretty high. I still wasn't feeling any urge to push.

Jonathan helped me to the bathroom and the midwife stepped out for a minute to deal with her seasonal allergies. May brings cottonwood here. I gave a small, experimental push between contractions and then a big contraction hit and I could feel my body pushing and a great deal of pressure (no pain). I looked down and saw half of the baby's head! I was a little surprised, as was Jonathan. I reached down with my hands and simultaneously stood up. She was born into my arms and I held her next to my body. Jonathan's hands were right below mine so if I had missed he would have caught her. She was born pink and crying. Such beautiful sound! I remember making cooing and oh sounds to her. I wasn't able to call out to the midwife, being somewhat preoccupied. However, once Jonathan saw the head emerging he called out. She didn't hear him until he cried out REBECCA! for a third time. Our midwife and another midwife came rushing into the room. She had only left for a minute, but our Melissa was born fast. They placed a towel over our baby and asked what we'd had. I replied that I didn't know yet. It had happened so fast that I hadn't even had a chance to look yet! I was delighted to find out she was a girl.

Melissa was born at 9:24, 19 minutes after my water ruptured. It wasn't quite how we'd envisioned the birth going, but it went well. I thought it was great to be the first to hold her and welcome her into the world. I wouldn't have chosen to give birth over a toilet, but oh well. It was very good nontheless. I had no tears requiring stitches despite Melissa's hasty entrance, and she was a healthy 8 lbs 3 oz with 9/9 apgars. She latched on well to nurse right from the beginning and is not a baby to miss a meal. On top of that she is a delightfully mellow, happy baby.

I loved the hours after her birth. It was so sweet and peaceful holding her in the night. I had a tremendous amount of energy and would have moved mountains for Melissa if needed. I walked her around the room and hallway. Her Daddy made up some songs to sing and rocked his baby girl while I showered. After a brief rest, a shower, and a meal (birthing is hard work and I was hungry!), I decided that I would prefer to sleep in my own bed. (I was also anxious to return home to Matthew and wanted to see him when he got up in the morning.) We left the birth center around 3:30 that morning, just as another couple entered. Our midwife had 3 births in 24 hours. She really earned her Mother's day rest that Sunday. As for myself, I enjoyed my Mother's day with my precious newborn and (most of the time) charming 2 year-old. My sweet husband and my mother made the day a special one.

-Rachel

A word from Uncle Grant

(I watched Matthew on Saturday while his parents went to Rachel's cousin's wedding.)

I gave Matthew his choice of games to play with me, and he insisted on playing KOTOR II. Uncle Grant's opinion was that there were a plethora of games more suitable for two year old intellects (up to and including Soul Calibur II, but that's a different topic). However, Matthew was adamant, and because the whole point of the exercise was that video games were to be the opiate of the masses, I did not insist.

Our first task was selecting a character model. Matthew did not seem to understand the point until I asked him, "Do you want a mama or a dada?" "Mama," was his immediate reply, and he then proceeded to get moderately peeved that Rachel's face was not one of the character models he could choose from.

I ended up choosing a blond one with longish hair, which somewhat mollified him, and that was that. I didn't think more of it until he started referring to the character as Mama throughout the game. On another note, Matthew understands the concept of "Bad guys." With 'bad guys' meaning, noun, the things that you press the green button repeatedly when you see. (I had to handle the dialogue for him, but he could handle pressing the green button
repeatedly without problems. I tried to teach him about the blue button [queue action] in fighting, but with less success.)

-Grant

The next big thing

Rachel broke out Matthew's "Christmas present" power-shovel truck yesterday. It's big enough to ride on, and Matthew looooooves it. We thought he would, which is why we didn't give it to him until it was well into Spring: as predicted, he doesn't want to do ANYthing besides play with his truck.

This morning, when I went to get him after a sleepy little voice declared, "Up! up!" the next the he said was, "Truck!" (All vehicles that are larger than cars are trucks to him.) No, I said, you've got to eat first. So he devoured some home-canned apricots. No, I said, you've got to get dressed first. So he put on some pants. No, I said, Daddy's got to get dressed first. Well, that was an easy one: just harass Dad until he gets dressed too.

So I'm outside now, far earlier than anyone should be outside, sitting on the steps while he plays with his truck in the sandbox. At least he's happy.

Potty update

It's been two days. Time for a potty update.

Looks like he's slowly getting better. Tuesday night it was the same drill: "Ow, ow!" "Do you need to poop!" "No! ... ow, ow!" So I locked him in. After about 8 minutes of howling, "I did it!" and Dad wiped him off.

It was a small poop, though. So today while I was at work, he pooped twice more. Rachel tells me the first wasn't bad, tantrum-wise, but the second was a fifteen-minute mini-marathon. Even though she let him pick out his popsicle beforehand (and move it down to a freezer shelf HE could reach), so he knew what he would be getting when he was done.

Potty update

(Warning: more fecal discussion ahead, if you needed a warning after the title.)

Rachel called me at work on Friday a little after 3:00. She said she was just calling to say hi, but I heard yelling in the background. She admitted that it had been a long day; Matthew was in his room now screaming. He needed to poop but he was too stubborn to do it. After Wednesday's battle we were ready to let him stay in diapers if he felt that strongly about it, but he didn't want to do THAT either. He was miserable, and he was making Mom miserable.

I went home early and alternated with Rachel camping out in front of Matthew's room while the screaming continued. On Rachel's watch, she went in to see how things were going and there was a nice long turd laid out neatly on the floor. Silver lining: since he'd been holding it in since Wednesday, it was fairly dry and not bad at all to clean up.

Today it was more of the same, screaming and howling and hopping with rage. I guess 2 days is as long as he can hold it... This time I figured hey, if he's going to take a dump on the floor let's do it where it's easy to clean up, so I put him in the bathroom and locked the door. I set up the potty seat for him, just in case he felt inclined to be reasonable about it. Nope; after oh about 20 minutes of cranking the volume to 10, he yelled through his screams, "Dada, poo poo." So I went in to see the damage.

He was standing in a corner of the room. I picked him up and put him on the toilet; a small turd dropped off his butt. Fine, I said, There's got to be more. See if you can put the rest in the potty.

Then I looked around and saw that I was standing in the rest. A much bigger turd, with my bare heel in it. No, parenting is not for the squeamish. I cleaned off my heel and the floor and his butt, and we got ready for church.

After church, reprise the same scenario. This time, it was only about ten minutes before the call came out -- calmer, this time -- and I went in. He was seated on the potty with the business in the water below. Good boy! I wiped him up and Rachel got him a popsicle.

Finally, before bedtime, the familiar clutching of the butt and Ow Ow-ing. I didn't think the pressure in his colon would be enough to overcome his hatred of the potty, but Rachel wanted to give it a try. She shut him in the bathroom and in only 5 minutes he was calling for me. (I'm honored, I guess, but really I think the butt-wiping should be more egalitarian here.)

So, maybe the worst is over. Mommy and Daddy earned it.

Peanuts

I noticed this morning when Matthew came downstairs to "help Dada" carry up a box of cereal that he takes one leg motion per step now on the way up, like an adult. That's quite a stride for a little guy. I got tired of roughhousing with Matthew before he did today. I sat down in a chair and started reading "Go, dog. Go!" out loud. Usually he'll get interested in the book and join me reading but this time he climbed on my lap and shouted, The end! The end! and closed the book.

Peanuts

• Matthew is now in the 25th percentile for both weight and height. Small, but his at his previous checkups the best he did was 3rd. :)
• Matthew still can't ride his skateboard standing up, but he admires older kids who can. At the park he saw one: "Tatoh [skateboard]. Wow... cool."
  

Pretty!

Outside with Matthew this afternoon. He's busy ruining Dad's pruning shears rooting about in the dirt with them, but I don't care. Then he notices the dandelions and stops. Daddy's taught him that Mommy likes flowers. Pretty! he says, and picks four of them. Flowers! "Do you want to take them to Mama?" Mama! *hyperventilates* and he's off.

He presents them with pride. They are received graciously with a kiss.

Peanuts

The case of the missing popsicle

I got home from work a couple days ago and Rachel told me, "I'd appreciate it if you fed Matthew something more nutritious than popsicles for breakfast." Huh? He didn't eat anything I gave him, so I left that to Rachel. "There was a popsicle stick on the counter, and when I got out of the shower he was tearing into another one with sticky hands. The thing is, he's a terribly messy popsicle eater and I'm afraid I'm going to find a sticky spot somewhere in the house. AND, I know I was in the shower for under 6 minutes because his Katamari Damaci level was just ending when I got out."

We still haven't found a sticky patch, but Dad makes sure to remember to put the baby lock on the freezer now before leaving.

The first successful "number two"

Matthew has been good at peeing in the toilet sitting down or standing up. He hasn't, however, had a bowel movement in the toilet -- until Wednesday.

Normally, he has 2 or 3 a day, but since Monday he'd been diaperless and had kept things closed down. So Wenesday when he started clenching his butt and saying "ow" we knew what to do: I pinned him down while Rachel administered a suppository.

Thus began one of the worst hours of my life. He was livid about the suppository, and his rage grew instead of diminishing as we sat him on the toilet and it started doing its work. He was maddest while his bowels were actually moving, but at no time did he ever stop whining, howling, or uttering incomprehensible imprecations that were probably directed at his parents. I couldn't take this for more than five minutes or so without being siezed by an irresistible urge to swat his butt and tell him to calm the heck down, but I suspected that probably wouldn't help the whole "the toilet is your friend" thing we were trying to encourage. So Rachel did more of the consoling the inconsolable, poor woman.

(His anger seemed worst when his bowels were actually moving. My theory is that he was trying with all his might to keep everything inside, but the suppository had done its work and he couldn't.)

When it was all over, everyone was just ragged. I let Matthew have popsicle, cheesecake, gummi bears, anything, but he was still one angry peanut. What a stubborn son I have...

We let him wear diapers around the house now so he can poop in them if he wants, and take them off to potty if he wants. (He doesn't like underwear; he's discovered that it lacks the properties that make diapers safe to poop in.)

In other words, Daddy and Mommy surrendered. For now.

Negotiations

Went to Carl's Jr with Rachel and Matthew a few nights ago. Matthew was having a great time in the play area but Mom and Dad were about ready to go. We were talking about this when Matthew looked over and held up his hand. "Five min'."

In the spirit of giving him choices, Rachel has started asking him, "Do you want to stop now, or keep playing for 5 minutes?" But this was the first time he's brought it up himself.

He loves the power "five min" gives him. The only problem is now he thinks if it works once, it should work over and over again. Yesterday I had to chase him down to get him off the slide. All the other parents looked at me knowingly and smiled sympathetically.

The truth

Matthew's never had much respect for the truth when it's inconvenient. ("Are you stinky?" "NO!") But this morning is the first pre-meditated lie I've seen. I told him he could have some cranberry juice after he finished his breakfast. He did, and I got it for him. "Ice? Ice?" No, ice is a special treat for naptime.

Ten minutes later or so it was time for me to get ready for work. "Daddy's going to go get Mama," I announced. "Mama nap!" Yes, I suppose so. "Wawa nap!" Hmm, okay. Went into the bedroom. Got his bear. Turned on the "frogs." Got a blanket. Then he handed me his juice sippy cup. "Ice!" Aha! Sneaky little fellow. "All right, if you're going to nap." Got the ice. Matthew leaped out of bed. "No wa nap!" Okay, that's fine. Daddy will just put the juice in the fridge until you nap later.

Tantrum time. When I left for work he was still tantruming. Poor Mommy!

Peanuts

• Put Matthew into the car seat yesterday. He hauled his bear onto his lap from where it had fallen to the side when he dozed off earlier, hugged it and said "Bear nice." Then gave it a kiss. That's more affection than I get most days.
• Rachel's been in the habit of putting her radio on the toaster -- there's more room up there to twist the antenna to get better reception. Yesterday the toaster lever got depressed and we had a melted radio on our hands. This made a deep impression on Matthew: today he's still pointing it out to me. "Hot! Wawa fix it!" I'm not sure what kind of fixing he has in mind, but I don't think I want to find out.

Vocabulary update

• Trage: Garage. E.g., "Owsai! Trage!" (Let's go outside, through the garage)
• Tis: Kids. E.g., "Tis! Owsai!" (Kids! Outside!)
• No wa: Don't want. E.g., "No wa nana" (Don't want a banana)

Hopefully one of these days he'll start pronouncing things better. In the meantime, Daddy and Mommy are experts in peanut-speak.

No way!

A week or two ago Matthew was being grumpy about something; I forget what exactly. Mommy had had enough of him , so when he dug in his heels and yelled "No way!" to whatever it was he was supposed to do, I could see her blood pressure rising.

"No way! No way! No way! No way!"

So I turned it into a game. "No way?" and started chasing him. "No way?" and tickled. He started giggling and running around with me.

This morning he came over to me on the couch. "No way! No way!" Time to play, Dad!

Grr

Matthew had been playing with the scissors yesterday at the table, cutting paper or silly putty; I forget which.

This morning he sat down and took the scissors to his batman cape that Grandma had made for him. I stopped him quickly but not before he had 4 or 5 slashes right in the middle of the cape.

Matthew has lost scissors priviledges for the forseeable future.

Play-doh

I mentioned that I thought the play-doh factory would be popular with Matthew. I didn't know just how popular.

Monday morning he got up and saw the box on the counter where it had somehow been left. "Play-doh! Play-doh! Play-doh!" (They should film this kid demanding his malleable overpriced whatever it is for a commercial. He's unrelenting.) He played with it for an hour and a half -- almost unprecedented in Peanut attention span.

Then he played with it some more that afternoon. Mommy showed him that if you squeeze out a longish strand and cut it off you have... a snake! This was a whole new dimension in play-doh fun. "Ssssss," he hissed, as his snake did a tour of the table.

Tuesday morning he woke up and demanded play-doh. And made snakes. Dad tried to mix it up by sometimes making two snakes, one for Dad. But that wasn't kosher. The rule was one snake. Dad is so slow sometimes.

Wednesday morning he woke up and demanded play-doh.

Thursday morning... you get the idea.

In between play-doh binges, he discovered that if he pressed his silly putty onto the newspaper, it lifts away some ink. He likes the colored comics pages best. He also discovered that silly putty is fun to cut with scissors.

So between the play-doh and the silly putty and the air rocket, being indoors hasn't been so bad. Which is good, because when it hasn't been raining this week, it's been snowing. And when it has been neither raining nor snowing it's still been cold and wet outside. (Wednesday afternoon I took him out anyway. I am not easily chilled, and I was freezing by the time he finally came in. Matthew is something of a wimp about cold at times -- from his mother's side, no doubt -- but when he wants to play outside, neither rain nor snow nor dark of night etc.)

Easter presents

Rachel charged me with finding some inexpensive Easter presents for Matthew. There are few things that Dad does better than toys! I picked out

• A small frisbee. Matthew hasn't figured out throwing with the wrist but he gets a kick out of throwing it with Dad anyway.
• A nerf missile launcher: put the missile on the launcher and give it a pump; the air pressure pushes the missile off. Since it's a direct-fire system (unlike his crossbow where clocking it loads a spring) Matthew can only shoot it 10 feet at most, but he thinks that's fantastic.
• A play-doh "factory." We haven't let him open this yet because of the mess potential but we will probably play with it tomorrow morning while Rachel sleeps in. I think he will like it.
  
• Silly putty: easily the most popular toy. He loves it. Even kept him quiet (for Matthew) during church. Huge hit.
  

Peanuts

Well, crap. I had an amusing and fun post but blogger crapped out when I hit publish, and thanks to the cleverness of rich-text widgets, nothing was left when I clicked Back.

Anyway, the short version is, Matthew put his shoe (singular) on by himself for the first time. (Velcro rules.) He needed help with his left one, though. Or maybe he just got impatient.

A mystery

Last night I lost my cellphone.

I thought, Where did I see it last? The last I could remember was calling Rachel up on the way home from the park to see if she wanted me to pick something up for dinner. Sometimes I put my phone next to the cupholders when I'm driving, so I checked in the car. No phone.

I dialed it from Rachel's phone repeatedly. Couldn't hear it anywhere.

I called up Artic Circle to see if somehow it had fallen out of my pocket there. No. At this point I decided it was gone. Too bad.

Not long afterwards, Rachel did her nightly re-tuck-in of Matthew. She came out looking amused and said, "I have good news and bad news." Yes? "The good news is, I found your phone. The bad news is, your son's a pickpocket." He must have lifted it out of my shirt pocket as I carried him to bed. Then I guess he dialed down the volume (accidentally, the only buttons he understands are Dial and Hang Up) so I didn't hear it ring.

The peanut gets the flu

Rough day. Matthew vomited oh probably 8 or 9 times. Seriously. From about noon to 7:00 he could not keep ANYthing down. Not even ginger ale.

He took it like a man, though. He was actually a lot LESS demanding than usual. Just wanted to sit on Mom's lap. Only thing that got him to smile was the Bumblebee song. Poor kid.

I asked my neighbor Chris to help me give him a blessing about 5:00. Two hours later he kept down a popsicle and not long after was back to his normal, happy, slightly prone to whining self.

Four loads of laundry later it's almost back to normal here.

Peanuts

• Matthew is calling me Dear today. "Taitai, Dear." Monkey see, monkey do...
• In a rare but not unprecedented occurrence, Matthew told Rachel that he wanted a nap today. ("Let's look at some books and take a nap." "Nap!" So he read some books with Mommy then went peacefully to his mattress.) He slept for almost 3 hours. Good thing, because he was a tired and cranky peanut this morning.
  

Little kids, big ears

Matthew, having risen early and napped insufficiently, is cranky and tired. I observed as much to Rachel while Matthew had his attention entirely riveted on The Wiggles. He instantly looked over and insisted, "Up! Up!"

I guess "tired" must be on his top-priority list, along with train and airplain noises.

Thank you Mommy!

Matthew brought me his bear (the bear, the one he freaks out over if he can't find it for nap/bedtime) when I got home from work yesterday. Wook! Bow! Bwoo! Taitai Mama! (Look! Bow! Blue! Thank you Mommy!)

Matthew had almost severed the bear's neck bow a couple days ago when I wasn't quick enough to stop him after he decided cutting newspaper with his scissors wasn't exciting enough, and reached out to expand his horizons. Apparently it's been slowly ripping the rest of the way through since the bow is his main carrying handle, so Rachel sewed on a new neck ribbon.

Taitai Mama! Tanks!

He was very pleased.

Songs with Matthew

Matthew got really really into singing kid songs this week. His two favorites, by a large margin, are "Caught a bumblebee" (he pinches his thumb and fingers together and waves it around, saying, Bumblebee -- his first three-sylable word that I can think of, and definitely the most recognizable) and "Three monkeys sitting in a tree, teasing Mr Aligator." Either of these can distract him from all but the most tragic of circumstances. This is a lifesaver in the car sometimes.

A tired Mommy

Monday was day 2 of installing our hardwood floors. This involved a very loud air compressor powering even louder nailguns. To keep Matthew out of the way (and for sanity: Matthew did not like the noise), Rachel took him basically everywhere, including all the way down to Provo where the mall has a kids play area. (Rachel wants me to include that she took him outside despite the bitter, bitter upper-30s cold. And wind. Don't forget the freezing wind. "Even Matthew said it was cold.")

She called at 2:00. "Are you coming home early?" "I wasn't planning on it." "Oh. Well, could you come home early?" "Okay...." I was busy but Rachel sounded frazzled. So, I tried to call her at 3:00. She didn't answer, so I figured she'd gone outside without the phone.

I left anyway. Rachel's car was gone when I got back. 20 minutes later she got back and I took Matthew outside some more and then to the McDonald's play area. I called half a dozen times during my two-hour stay at McDonalds to see if Rachel wanted me to pick up pizza (McDonald's isn't an option with Rachel, duh) on the way home. No answer. When I got home I found Rachel fast asleep. "Mama sleep!"

A peanut's sense of direction

Last night Ellis and Grant came over for games and dessert. For the first time, Matthew made a good approximation of Ellis's name: Ai-yai. ... Well, if not good, at least recognizable, okay?

Today we went down to Provo to shop for rugs so we called Grant up to see if he wanted us to treat him to lunch. When we pulled in, Matthew started asking, Where Ai-yai? Smart kid, considering he's only seen Ellis there twice that I can think of, and not recently.

Later on in the evening, I took Matthew to the bookstore that we'd been to on Saturday -- the one with the train set laid out for kids to play with. As soon as I turned into the parking lot, he started clammoring, Train! Choo choo! Train! Target is in the same parking lot but I'm not sure how Rachel will go there now without having to stop at the train set too. :)

Final news for the day: Rachel suggested I take Matthew to Toys R Us while she went baby clothes shopping next door. "Never leave Matthew and Jonathan alone in a toy store" is her new resolution for the year. Matthew had a blast trying the toys out and we left with a Nerf crossbow, a mini-skateboard, and a helmet.

Note on the crossbow: I've been looking for a gun of some sort that Matthew can cock himself. There are battery-powered disc-throwers, but the discs are small and easily lost -- Nerf ammo is larger. But, all the air-powered guns have actions that are too tough for him to pull. (I tried the smallest gun a while ago. Still too tough.) But, I remembered that medieval crossbows required the user to load using his legs to force the bow back. This toy bow has its pump action in line with the stock, so I had him give it a try with his foot. It's not easy, but he can do it! (Balancing long enough to lock the action in is what makes it challenging.)

He had fun shooting his bow at the ceiling (Mommy rightly forbids any other orientation -- the nerf bolt packs enough punch to knock something off a shelf, even break a lightbulb) and when he tired of that, Daddy showed him that he could try to hit his balloon (that he got at one of the furniture stores we took Rachel to earlier). He's having a blast.

Update: we had to confiscate the balloon and crossbow to get him to sit for dinner. Even then he wouldn't eat anything until I told him he could get his balloon back by eating his beans and chicken, and his crossbow for an apple slice. He scarfed down his food then -- once I got the balloon and crossbow, he was done eating, even when offered chocolate cake for dessert.

He's getting to be a pretty good shot, too. :)

full-contact vacuuming

When Rachel vacuumed the living room today, Matthew wanted to vacuum too. Rachel told him he could have a turn after Mama. Matthew couldn't wait, though, and got his toy vacuum to "help" -- or so I thought. He really wanted to play FULL CONTACT VACUUMING. Whenever Rachel made a stroke with the vacuum, CRACK he would ram into hers from the side. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. This is the first time he has done this. I sincerely hope he doesn't make it a habit.

Peanuts

• Matthew is figuring out pronouns. Well, one of them, at least. "I jump! I help!"
• Some things are better illicit. I made oatmeal yesterday (good oatmeal, with homemade jam), and Matthew stirred it around with a spoon and decided he wanted none of it. Then Rachel made oatmeal too when she got up, and again Matthew wanted none of it. Shortly after dissing Mommy's oatmeal, he reached up to the oats can on the counter and ran off with it, stuffing his face with raw oats!
• He's starting to develop clothes preferences. This morning he unzipped his sleeper: "Shirt! Shirt!" No, I said, keep your sleeper on and Mama will pick clothes for you when she gets up. "Shirt!" he insisted. "Ai-err! Rawrrrr!" Not just any shirt, you see -- his orange tiger shirt that he wore yesterday. So for once Matthew got dressed before Mama got up.
  

A morning tantrum

This morning I treated Matthew to some cheez-its after his breakfast yogurt. He ate some, then started handing some to me. I declined the first, but he insisted, so I ate it. Then he brought me a second, which I also ate. MINE! MINE! he yelled, hopping up and down in anger.

Even for a two-year-old I thought this was pretty irrational.

Airplane!

My vette is still in "transmission problem? What transmission problem" land. I was going to go show them the problem today, actually (it's pathetically easy to reproduce -- first to 2nd and back to first, or rather TRY to go back to first for several seconds until it decides to relax and allow it) but it snowed again. So Monday I'd taken the Ford to work, but Rachel called at 10:30 to say she had forgotten about her movie with Matthew at 11, so could I bring the car back. I did, and that's where this story comes from.

Rachel was watching our neighbor's kids while she had some kind of pregnancy checkup thing. I'm pretty sure it involved glucose. I'm not exactly sure whose idea it was -- Rachel's, I think -- but all 3 boys had "airplanes" made out of Matthew's toy blocks. (You know, the huge baby ones where the unit is about 1 inch.) They were having a good time except Matthew was prone to whacking things with his...

Tuesday I got home from work and Matthew went straight to his blocks and asked for an airplane. Okay, no sweat. Again, he ended up with a timeout for whacking Dad with the plane.

Today when he got up the first thing he said was, "Baby UP!" The second was, "Airplane!" And then when I made him one he said No no, Car! and directed me to build the wings onto the wheeled block. (This was an improvement on the basic plane design that Jacob, the older guest, had come up with.)

Wonder how long THIS fad will last.

sleep deprivation

Matthew's been able to reach the light switch in his room by climbing on his bookshelf (or his truck, or his upended toy basket...) for a while now. Monday night he took the next step and decided this means he doesn't have to go to sleep at bedtime. I put him down at 7:30; at 9:30 (after repeating the process several times) he fell asleep at the door, with the light on.

Tuesday he didn't sleep in and was a very cranky boy. Not only that, but that night he got up at 12:00, 2:00, 3:00, AND 4:00. Grr! Then he finally slept in, 'til 8:30. We have a lightswitch lock on order (none of the local stores stock them), but in the meantime Rachel instituted a policy of light turned on after bedtime = spanking and that was pretty effective last night.

In other news, Matthew got a cheap plastic "camera" in a kid's meal at Carl's Jr. Now he goes around saying "smile" and clicking the "shutter." Just like Daddy!