Your 2023 American Idol

As you all well know, my son does not talk. Although he's starting to try. Sort of. He's hovering somewhere around 20 words and while this is borderline unacceptable to this English lover, the joy that he brought me last night knows no bounds.

He watched a couple of songs on American Idol with me and then left the room in favor of his dad and a rousing episode of Sports Center--or something. Toward the end of American Idol, he came back into the bedroom and climbed up next to me. I let him snuggle with his blankie and paci. All of the sudden he threw his pacifier at me (he knows he can't have it while he's walking around) and piled his blanket on my lap. He turned to climb down. "Are you going to go find daddy?" I questioned. He looked at me like I was a lunatic and said, "no."

He jumped down, opened the drawer in the nightstand, pulled out a flashlight, turned to face the television, held the flashlight up to his mouth, bounced up and down (his version of dancing), and starting making an off-key ruckus into the flashlight.

He has never been personally introduced to a microphone. I have never showed him that other objects can be used as pretend microphones--I save all my hairbrush concerts for when he is tucked tightly in bed. My 21 month old son decided, completely on his own, to use a flashlight as a microphone and sing along with American Idol. The only way I could be more proud is if he recited Shakespeare and, let's face it, you need more than 20 words for that.

I ran and grabbed the camera but the video from last night didn't turn out very well. He kept running out of the room and singing on the landing, where I could not see him. I took this video this morning. I figured that since yesterday was Neil Diamond night, I'd play some Neil for him in hopes that he would do it again. He gets a little bored from time to time and, as all good performers do, keeps you anticipating with bated breath. At one point he even climbs up in the chair and does a contemplative, unplugged, version. See for yourselves.


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Today my house overheard the following: Garrett, I know you don't think you need a nap but it's nigh-night time anyway because I have to go clean up the mess your brother, the dog, made.

Upon initial inspection I thought the dog took a totally loose dump in our house. However, it was later determined that some sort of hairball full of little twigs and some other unknown substance was released, probably through the act of vomiting. It wasn't a large quantity, it looked like poo, smelled a little more like barf. The jury is still out.

I just don't understand that idiot dog. Hmmm. I have to either throw up or take a dump. In fact, it's basically an emergency. I think I will walk over here and do it all over the carpet right next to the couch. It doesn't matter that there are several, much better options. Sure, I could stick my head into the trash can in the bathroom that's right next to me. However, my intelligence level is really not that high. I could probably do it on my bed, which can be washed. Wait, wait, the tile would be a good choice because it can be mopped. No. These options pale in comparison to the wonderful carpet choice.

In fairness to the dog, it was pretty close to the door so maybe he was sitting there hoping that someone would come and let him out. In fairness to me, when he realized that I saw it and he cowered in the corner with his tail between his legs, I walked over to him, patted him on the head and said, "It's okay, buddy." Our dog just doesn't take a poop, or puke, on the floor on a regular basis. It would probably be a little mean for me to scold him for intestinal irregularity.