Painting the Town Brown

For Halloween, most kids dress up as vampires, witches, superheroes or princesses.  Some imitate characters of myth and fable, while others prefer to look like their favorite TV star.  Monday night, our son Kyle was dressed like the UPS guy.

It's not easy to pick out a costume for a three-year-old, especially when he refuses to give us any suggestions.  Kyle is just as picky with clothing as he is with food, and any attempt by parents to get him to try something else will be met with uncontrollable wrath.  Yes, that means the extremely fashionable bacon suit, the perfect combination of style and cuisine, would be Kyle's ultimate punishment.  Fortunately, we tend to deal with the food and clothing aversions separately, and as Jennifer and I searched for this year's costume, we went through the extensive list of no-no's.  No bulky clothes.  No super-tight clothes.  Nothing too flashy.  Nothing too frilly.  Nothing too slimy.  Nothing with spikes.  No masks.  No funny noses.  No enormous ears.  No slippers.  No hats. 

The last bit about hats is a big one.  Kyle has one hat he likes to wear - a Brooklyn baseball cap - and he even throws that one to the ground often.  Many of the costumes we liked required him to wear an identifiable hat.  Initially we wanted Kyle to be a zookeeper, since his brother Adam was going as a lion (a hand-me-down gift from our good friends Matt & Amanda, whose son Evan was a lion last year).  But every zookeeper costume we saw looked like a nondescript beige uniform without the hat.  Then we came across the UPS costume.  It was simple.  Everyone would know who he was from the badge on his brown shirt.  The hat was nice, but not required.  Plus, Kyle nearly wets his diaper with excitement every time our UPS guy rings the buzzer, and he always demands I take him downstairs to get the package.  We just couldn't resist giving him the costume.

"I want to be BATMAN," said the little guy several days ago.  Tough luck, kid.  That ain't gonna happen, especially with Halloween less than a week away.  It would have been nice if Kyle told us that in September, or even two weeks ago.  At first, I thought we'd have a crisis on our hands, but fortunately Kyle forgot about his suggestion a day or so later.  Next year we won't be as lucky, I'm sure.

So, on Halloween, Kyle wore the UPS costume with little resistance, and Adam was a fiercely drooling lion.  Kyle first went to a party at his nursery school, where he says many girls dressed up as butterflies.  Butterflies?  That seemed like an odd costume.  We asked him if he was sure, and he said, yes, they were butterflies.  It took us a while, but then we realized his likely mistake.  The wings must have thrown him off.   The girls probably were dressed like other winged characters, such as fairies, angels or Winged Nazgul.  Not butterflies.  That would have been silly.  We didn't bother to correct Kyle, since it's often futile to correct a three-year-old on matters such as these.  The girls were butterflies.

Then came the trick-or-treating.  That was a lot of fun.  I'm guessing a couple hundred kids (no kidding) roamed our block and the next, asking for treats and getting plenty.  Kyle's pumpkin bucket was full in practically no time.  Everyone recognized his costume, and many people asked him if he had a package for them.  Of course he didn't, but Kyle didn't want the candy-givers to get upset and deny him sweets.  So he said, "yeah," then grabbed the candy and ran off before the candy-givers could respond.  Adam lurked behind, ready to scare them with his fierce lion gums should they try to go after his brother.

This was the best Halloween we've had in a long time, perhaps the best one since we've gone trick-or-treating ourselves (and we've had a lot of good ones since Kyle was born).  I just love seeing it though Kyle's eyes.  I can't wait 'til Adam can trick-or-treat with him.  That will be a blast, and it will also bring in twice as much candy.  As it is, I've been on a sugar high since mid-October, but I'm guessing it'll wind down by Veteran's Day.  Someday I hope to keep it up 'til Thanksgiving.  Oh yes, I love Halloween.

Closing Time

There are certain places that are obviously unfit for an infant and three-year-old: a topless bar, a slaughterhouse, a place where Santa Claus decorations are melted for recycling.  But what about an attorney's office on the day of a closing?  It's hard to see any dangers there.  Sure, it's not as exciting as a playground or a grilled cheese sandwich, but the office has pens and paper and chairs to play on, as long as the kids sign waivers absolving the attorneys of any responsibility should there be an accident.  Plus, a closing should be exciting for kids, as it is the start of a new adventure into a brand new home with nice clean floors and walls for them to destroy.  Why not bring our children?  At least that's what we had to tell ourselves, after our many babysitting plans fell through.


(Above: Packed up and ready to move to a new home)

So, in late August, we smiled sheepishly as we walked into the attorney’s office, apologizing in advance for our kids, as Kyle ran off and almost whacked the bank representative with a swivel chair.  That required another apology, and more paperwork.  Jennifer and I took our spots at the long table, with our real estate attorney sitting between us.  The sellers sat across from us with their lawyer, and there were other representatives there from the bank and the state.  Nobody was upset that our children were with us, or at least they didn't show it.  Adam remained in his car seat, on the table next to Jennifer.  Kyle was supposed to be near me, but he couldn't stay in one spot when there were so many cabinet doors to open.  We had brought some books and crayons, but he was done with those and off to something else before we could sign the first document.

And, wow, there were a ton of papers to sign.  For some reason, you can form a country with a single document, but you can't buy a home in that country without getting carpal tunnel syndrome.  Page after page flew in front of us for a signature, as our lawyer briefly explained what each one meant.  Much of it was over my head.  This was our first time purchasing a home.  I was used to signing a one-page lease that basically told us to pay the rent on time, keep the place clean, and don't throw animals out the window.  Now I had to sign a mountain of paper, taking ownership to every little crack in the wall of our new condo, and giving the bank permission to remove our kidneys should we be delinquent with our payments.

At least, that's what I understand of what happened that day.  I couldn't quite focus with Kyle running around, taking off his shoes, skipping out of sight into the hallway, and climbing the office blinds.  As I carefully watched Kyle and tried to steer him from harm, I just nodded, signed and initialed each page before me, hoping that somehow I wasn't doing anything I'd regret later.  I also figured that my wife, who is an attorney, would be closely following and understanding everything that was going on.  If I had questions, I could just ask her later.  But Jennifer was having a rough time with Adam, who that afternoon realized that being a quiet little baby is boring and screaming incites a funny reaction from Mommy.  So she just signed away as she tried to quell our infant, hoping that I was listening to the proceedings.  Once we were done and on the way home, we realized that neither of us had a clue as to what just happened, or why we agreed to let the sellers' Uncle Murray stay with us on weekends.

Now it's nearly two months later, and I think we survived the home-buying process.  I still feel buying a home was the right thing to do.  Our savings account had been dragging us down, and we were tired of living someplace we could actually afford.  Besides, owning property is part of the American dream, and buying a home allowed us to take part in another joy of life: moving.  This time we packed and unpacked with two children around, which should be illegal.  Everything went much more slowly, but with far more stress.  Blankets and toys had to be found - immediately! - even if you forgot what box you put them in.  Fortunately, some meltdowns were averted (thank you, DVD player) and now a majority of things are where they should be.  I'm getting to a point where I can stop unpacking and do other things, such as showering and writing.  It feels good.  Life is finally returning to normal, whatever "normal" may be.

Big Brother is Watching

Note: July turned out to be more difficult than I had anticipated.  I had hoped to write an original post for "Dave Weekly," but instead I am publishing a post I had written this month for my baby blog.  My apologies to all those who also subscribe to that blog and are now forced to re-read the same bad jokes.

So far, Kyle seems to be liking his baby brother.  Or rather, he seems to be obsessed with him.  "Kyle wants to see baby Adam!"  "Kyle wants to see baby Adam!"  That's all I hear from him all day.  When he sits down for a meal, he wants to be in a seat where he can view the little guy.  When Kyle rides next to Adam in his stroller, he practically stands in it so that he can see Adam rolling along beside him.  When Adam takes a nap, Kyle wants to watch.  When Adam wants a feeding, Kyle... well, fortunately for Jennifer, Kyle's okay with Adam doing that alone.

And there's more.  While most of us often wait years to relive our childhoods, Kyle's already wanting a return trip down memory lane.  When we tried "tummy time" to terrify Adam...

... Kyle also had to join in.

We clapped when Kyle showed us how well he could roll over.

This obsession is a bit unexpected.  We were hoping Kyle would like Adam, or just get used to having him around.  But instead, for the past month, Kyle's been completely focused on his younger brother.  If Kyle weren't three years old and Adam's sibling, I'd call him a creepy stalker.  Yet, it all seems mostly innocent (keep in mind I say "mostly").  Kyle's even nudging us to do more, often telling us to say "hi" to Adam, or ask "what's the matter, Adam?" when he's crying.  Kyle also makes his own guesses as to what's causing Adam's cries, and he likes to share those with us.  He'll tell us that Adam is hungry, has a dirty diaper, or is going tone-deaf by listening to his daddy's singing. 

Sure, this sounds nice and helpful and all, but the truth is Kyle likes the crying.  He smiles widely when he hears it.  He laughs.  So, naturally, he wants to hear it again.  And that's where the innocence ends.  Many times Kyle hovers around Adam just to get him worked up.  If Adam is sleeping, Kyle will walk up to him and start shouting loudly and incoherently until his little brother wakes up crying.  Kyle then will look up at me and say that Adam needs a diaper change.

A little sibling rivalry might be budding here.  Kyle better be careful.  I think Adam is quietly plotting revenge... 

I can see it in his eyes.

Dave Monthly

While I get used to having two kids, I don't think it's wise for me to keep up with two blogs.  I'm not exactly the type of person who posts without editing or rewriting, so these things take a bit of time, and time is a little scarce these days.  Because of that, I plan to take a break from Dave Weekly to focus more on my blog for family and friends.

I will continue to write on this blog, but only once a month in July, August and September.  I'll go back to my weekly column in October, just in time for Kyle to begin nursery school.  We'll have lots of fun then, especially with all the diseases our kid will be bringing home.  Oh boy!

Have a great one, and be sure to come back here next month!

Spoiling Our Dinner

There are certain things you don't do in the days leading up to a scheduled c-section.  Using a slow cooker is one of them.  In the evening of June 16th, I had to prematurely kill what would have been a delicious rump roast meal, with just two hours of cooking left to go.  The smell of marinated meat, accompanied by peppers, onions and other savory ingredients, had already permeated the apartment.  For much of the day, we welcomed the aroma, and became increasingly excited about our gourmet dinner.  But as I stood there, with my hand clicking the knob to "off," the smells became a tease for a meal that wasn't meant to be, mocking us for even attempting to cook anything that requires hours when we were living minute-to-minute, waiting for a sign that the baby was to arrive.  The meal had to end.  Jennifer was having contractions.

I will never forgive Adam for killing my rump roast.  His brother had the decency to arrive after the due date.  The least Adam could do was wait 'til the c-section appointment, which was scheduled five days before he was due.  Or maybe wait 'til taco night.  But no, our son had to go ahead and launch contractions before our meal was finished.  The nerve.

"Surprise!"

At first, we weren't even sure that Jennifer was going through actual labor, which made killing our meal all the more painful.  After dropping Kyle off at our emergency sitter, we rushed to the hospital, grabbed a couple chairs outside the delivery room... and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Then a nurse gave us a room, put Jennifer on a bed, hooked her up to monitors, and made us wait some more.  It was a very busy night at the maternity ward, exactly nine months after iTunes released Barry White's "Ultimate Love" Collection.  A doctor introduced herself, asked why we were there, checked Jennifer's pulse and the baby's heartbeat, and then disappeared for hours.  From time to time, nurses came in, again asking why we were there before checking Jennifer's pulse and the baby's heartbeat.  They downplayed the contractions, saying they probably weren't signs of actual labor, and were likely triggered by dehydration or the aroma of a very, very good meal.  Still, Jennifer was not to eat or drink anything, just in case we really were on the baby train.  For long stretches we were left alone in the small room with no TV, shielded from others by a thin curtain.  We had no music, just beeps from the monitors and Adam's heartbeat, which would fade in and out depending on where he positioned himself.  I sat in a chair by Jennifer's bed, next to what appeared to be the only working bathroom in the entire ward, so we had more visitors than medics checking up on us.  We waited some more as Jennifer's contractions intensified.  Then the doctor we had met earlier walked back into our room.  She introduced herself and asked us why we were there.  It was a long night.

At about 1 a.m., nearly seven hours after we had checked in and long after our rump roast began to decay on our kitchen counter, the doctor and nurses finally determined that labor was indeed happening.  Jennifer and I gave each other a high-five.  It's Baby Time!  The doctors said they'd be right back, and about an hour later they returned and prepped Jennifer for the operation.  I went downstairs to the admitting office and signed about 400 papers to appease the hospital's lawyers. I also ate the snack I had packed in my emergency bag.  Maternity doctors suggest that the husband should eat, since it's pointless to have two hungry parents, and they don't want the dads thinking about chicken wings when they receive their babies for the first time. 

A doctor then guided me to the operating room, and I sat there by Jennifer's side, waiting for our little one to arrive.  Adam joined our family at 2:58 a.m. on the 17th.  The surgeons cleaned him up and then handed our beautiful little boy to me.  I was overwhelmed with pride and joy, and I smiled widely as I talked to our son for the first time.  He cried and nearly passed out as he smelled my rancid breath.  That night I learned another thing about preparing for a child's birth: when putting together your hospital bag, don't pack a "barbecue and cheese" snack mix as your emergency food.  I don't think Adam received a good first impression of his dad.

A little more than a week has passed.  We're now at home, surviving life with two kids.  It's going well so far, and our family and friends have been there to lend support and offer their congratulations.  Life is great.  My mom is here as well to help us along during the first couple of weeks.  She's also doing much of the cooking.  I think I will make a special request.  Let's hope Adam doesn't ruin it again.