Maui 2012--In Images

I spent way too much time yesterday and today making this video but I think it captures our trip.




Oh man. I wanna go back.

Guess I'll just have to try to live a little Hawaiian style here in Salt Lake.

ABCs

This is how Matthew sings his ABCs.

A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, K, Day, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, B, W, X, Y, G. Now I know my ABCs. Next time don't be with me.

Every. Single. Time.

*****Edited to add video*****

Snow!

The Rock Star wanted a snowboard from Santa. He saw it in the sporting goods section of Target and, suddenly, he had eyes for nothing else. It's a training snowboard designed for children and, with a price tag that was less than $20, we just needed to decide if we wanted Santa to bring our son a vehicle of injury, destruction and death. But we're into sports, risk taking within reason, and letting our kids explore, learn, and grow in age appropriate ways.

So, pretty much he had us at, "I want a snowboard."

He got a helmet from his cousin and serious instructions from us that he would be using this injury trap only on very small hills with very slight inclines.

But then we went through the entire month of December with no snow. Christmas came and went. Garrett spent the days after Christmas asking me if he could snowboard down the stairs. Or on the dirt outside. Or if I would pretty please take him to Alaska.

When I woke up this morning there was snow on the ground. There was only one sensible thing to do. We all climbed into our winter gear.

Future snow bunny? Future winter Olympian? Future X Game Athlete? Future boy that gives his mom daily heart palpitations? That jacket, by the way, was originally an 80 dollar item.  Let's just say I got a really good deal. At Ross. I love good deals. I handed them a twenty and it was covered. But let's get this rabbit back on it's original trail...

Or, this snowboarder back on his board.

The first time we put him on the little hill, he fell over. Troy stood him up and walked with him until he got balanced. Then Garrett went a few feet alone before the incline leveled out. I caught it on camera but it wasn't nearly as impressive as his second run.

We went to a steeper hill because we also wanted to sled and that wasn't happening at the toddler slope. Garrett spent some time on his keister but impressed us with his ability to balance and stay upright at only five.

We also went sledding. There wasn't much snow so the hill was slow--pretty perfect for the boys, actually. If it hadn't been so cold we might have stayed all afternoon.

In the end Matthew began repeating, "My cheeks cold. My cheeks cold. My face hurts." But not before he laughed and smiled and said, "Again!" over and over.

It's a good thing we got to go out today because it's not supposed to snow again for at least another ten days. This is some kind of bizarre winter. (Has mother nature listened to me at last?)

The Happiest Christmas Tree

This is, quite possibly, my favorite video of my son. Ever. I don't know for sure but it's certainly near the top. I absolutely adore his face every single time he sings, "Hee hee." All the joy of Christmas is right there in his silly smile.

I freaked out there for a minute. My happiest Christmas tree has had swollen lymph nodes in his groin for six or seven weeks. Yesterday, I made an appointment for today with the doctor and then busied myself with all the crap (read: leukemia) that he might have. I read about diagnosis and treatment. I read about a portion of my kid's hip bone being removed for testing. I read about bone marrow transplants.

Because I'm an insane lunatic who doesn't just jump to conclusions, I leap to them. I set world records. I make entire mountain ranges out of mole hills.

He didn't have any other symptoms but just the one was enough to make me crazy for a night. Turns out that while I've made great strides in regard to surrendering my own life to the Lord, I'm still at zero station when it comes to the lives of my children.

Praise the Lord, the swollen nodes in his groin (and neck) are small enough that the doctor wasn't concerned. His spleen and liver were normal sized. He hasn't had a fever, weight loss, appetite loss or any other symptoms that would concern the pediatrician.

So I praise the Lord that my happiest Christmas tree is also a healthy Christmas tree. And I say an extra prayer for the parents of children who are not. 

Come to the Party

My son came down the stairs wearing an unevenly buttoned dress shirt and a tie. "Would you like to come to my party?" He asked.

He'd turned on the music in his room, his very messy room, his very messy room that you should totally ignore and not judge me for, and the two of them were dancing away. Troy and I did what any normal parents would do and we joined in. We danced like no one was watching and, well, praised the Lord that really, no one was actually watching because we are the worst and second worst dancers in the entire world. I'm bad. Really bad. My husband might be worse. If that's even possible. Unfortunately, our oldest son got our terrible moves. There's hope for the second born but only if he doesn't watch us and find himself influenced.

Welcome to the party.

P.S. I just watched the video and it wasn't that messy. I think most of the stuff wasn't in the shot. All that appears here is a disheveled bed, a stuffed frog, and a stray pair of pajamas.

Then & Now

Don't forget to enter the giveaway at www.familyfishbowl2.blogspot.com. Only four more days to enter. Lots of ways to win!
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My friend sent me a link to her sister's youtube page.

I can't believe this was Garrett just two years ago.

Although, I can't believe that this is Garrett now, either. I mean, six years ago tomorrow, I found out I was pregnant with him. He was the size of a pea for heaven's sake. He was nothing but a gray blob on the ultrasound with a tiny heart beating in the center. And now he recites poems.

He learned that for preschool. The assignment was to memorize a poem to get a button for their bags. These buttons are prized possessions. I found the poem online and read it to Troy. He chuckled and said, "That might be a little long for him since he wants to do it tomorrow." Garrett had it mostly memorized Sunday night and got it down pat Monday morning. When I picked him up from school, his teacher gave me the thumbs up.

"His poem was great!"

Six years ago, teeny little embryo. Today...well, today he's a big boy.

To Choke Or Not To Choke?

I can still vividly remember the last time I ate an artichoke. I was about nine, maybe ten. I was over at my best friend's house and her mom made an artichoke. If my memory is correct, it was made as an afternoon snack. Her mom, sister and her gathered around the artichoke, giddy with excitement. I don't remember that her other sister, the toddler, participated in the consuming of the strange vegetable. I remember eating a petal and thinking I might just die from the awfulness. They assured me I'd like the heart. I didn't. I do remember that Brittany and Megan fought over who got more of the heart. I'd recently gagged on it so this disturbed me on a number of levels.

Like I said before, I was a little concerned about receiving artichokes in my Bountiful Basket. I wanted to be a good example to my kids--these are, after all, the same kids who are forced by their mother to eat whatever appears on their plate. So yesterday I began The Great Artichoke Adventure.

First I selected two of my four artichokes.
I put a few inches of water in my pan and added some bay leaves and some garlic salt.

I cut the stem off of the artichokes, pulled off the tiny petals at the base, cut a little off the top of the artichoke and trimmed the pointed tips of the petals. (Is it called a petal or a leaf or what?)
Then I put my steam basket into my pot and placed the artichokes inside. I brought the water to a boil and then reduced the heat so that the artichokes simmered for about 45 minutes. I melted butter to dip them in.

We had chicken wraps, leftover Luau rice, crushed pineapple and artichokes for dinner. I realize this a very strange combination but I was so preoccupied with the artichokes that I kind of forgot we needed a meal to go with them. In the end I needed to whip something up that would be finished at about the same time.

So, the question remains. To choke or not to choke? I documented each of our reactions.

The Rock Star was very interested in the strange looking vegetable. He's also had to eat enough things in his short little life that he's pretty willing to try new things. So I was perfectly fine with letting him go first.


Obviously he liked it. He then proceeded to narrate the rest of our videos with his, "I want more!" "I'm going to eat it all!" "Can I have more?"

Next up was The Little Buddy.


He thoroughly enjoyed it as well. So much so that he started to shovel pieces of it into his mouth. This result in him attempting to swallow the entire thing. I had to start scraping his pieces with a fork and only giving him the edible portion. He ate it ravenously, much faster than I could scrape it. He also wolfed it down without any butter and kept asking for more.

When Troy and I got married he would eat canned peas, corn, and green beans. And, I kid you not, I'm pretty sure that's about it. I began introducing him to broccoli, cauliflower, asparagus, zucchini and other such veggies. He doesn't love all of them but I think he tolerates all of them. Well, maybe not cauliflower. On another note, I'm pretty sure the only kind of lettuce he ever ate was iceberg. He's broadened his taste buds to include green leaf, red leaf, romaine and, perhaps his favorite, spinach. I'm very proud of his willingness to try new vegetables even as he approaches--gasp--forty.


He later told me that he found it pretty bland and gave a shrug as if to say, "Eh. I could take it or leave it." But he ate it without complaining or making faces. There was no gagging or choking. This I count as a success.

I'm thrilled with my video. I'm thrilled that I didn't think the camera was on and I debate this fact with Troy. I'm thrilled that I'm sporting not one but two happy zits that will not go away and felt the need to star in this episode of Lori Eats an Artichoke. I'm thrilled that I didn't have the good sense to actually do my hair yesterday.


At first I found myself in Troy's Bland Camp but, as the night went on, I found myself eating more and more of the artichoke. I decided it tasted like a subtle asparagus. We got down to the choke, discarded it, and shared the heart. There was no elbow throwing like I remembered from my last experience but it was soft and rather tasty.

Later, The Rock Star got down from the table and went to play. When he came back he climbed into his chair. The kitchen had been cleaned and he moaned, "Hey, where did the rest of that thing go?"

"The artichoke?" I asked him.

"Yes."

"Gone."

"OHHH! I wanted to eat more of it!"

"Well, there are two more in the refrigerator for another time."

"Yeah!" He shouted.

We continue to try new things. We continue to realize that our palates change over time. We continue to be impressed by our children's willingness to eat what is put before them. To choke or not to choke, that is the question. In this case, yes, we artichoke but no, we don't choke on them.

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails but Not Spiders

By 10:40 this morning, I'd already been knocked out of the running for Mom of the Day. Not that there is such an award. Even if there was, I'd probably never be eligible. Anyway. The Rock Star was at preschool, I was in the kitchen, and The Little Buddy was watching an episode of his new favorite show, Dinosaur Train. Houses here in Utah are all kinds of architecturally bizarre. Our home has four different levels because the builder wanted me to get extra exercise climbing multiple staircases. Five stairs separate our kitchen from our family room. I promise this little bit of house trivia will be important later in the story.

As I was cutting potatoes, Matthew was watching his show. Every now and then he would start sobbing. For no apparent reason. Which he does regularly enough that I don't always sprint right to his rescue. He cried. Then he stopped. A few minutes later he cried again, then stopped. I kept looking down into the room where he was. He was standing in the middle of the room. He wasn't trapped, wounded or otherwise in need of saving. He could come up into the kitchen if he really needed me.

Eventually, he stood, in the middle of the floor, crying without ceasing. "Matthew, come here." He didn't. "Matthew, go up to your room if you need to cry." (This is something we started several weeks ago. As I said before, The Little Buddy cries a lot for no real reason other than to hear himself cry. If we can't figure out why he is crying, we send him up to the bedroom. Almost always he will walk into his room, come back out a minute later in better spirits, and say, "Saw-e, Mama.") He wouldn't budge. Last night he had an obstinate moment so I thought this was a fun and exciting new phase of defiance. "Matthew, you'd better go up to your room right now!" He remained, feet firmly planted to the carpet. I went down to the room, took his arm and led him, screeching, up the first flight of stairs and then the second. I placed him in the bedroom.

Two minutes later he came out. "Saw-e, Mama!"

"I forgive you. You need to stop having tantrums," I chastised. "Let's change your diaper and go get Garrett." A few minutes later we were ready to leave. I walked down the stairs into the family room. Matthew froze at the first stair. "Come on." He wouldn't budge.

Then I noticed a little toy spider on the bottom stair. I picked it up. "Are you afraid of this?" I asked him moving the spider toward him.

"WAAAWAHWAHAHAHAH!!!!!" Came the recoiling scream from my toddler. Clearly he'd wanted to get to me and wouldn't walk past the rubber arachnid. I put the spider up and explained to Matthew that he needed to use his words--or at the very least, point--so that I would know that he was afraid of something. I felt so bad that he'd been put in his room because he was scared. I also thought about how he is kind of the little boy who cried. That's it. Just the boy who cried. About everything. To the point that it didn't seem abnormal to me that he was crying off and on throughout an episode of Dinosaur Train.

I also started thinking of how I could use these spiders to my own benefit. I could put him in a big boy bed and surround it with rubber spiders in order to keep him there. I could line the kitchen with them to keep him out while I'm trying to cook. The ideas are endless, really. Of course I wouldn't actually do any of those things. I wouldn't play on his fears like that.

Mostly.

When we got home, Garrett started playing with the spiders and, for some reason, they were no longer scary but completely hysterical. Unless you got them within about a foot of him.

Two Videos

We moved here just about three years ago. We had Thanksgiving with my family and then headed out to the tundra. The last two Thanksgivings we've spent here with Troy's parents. This year we're flying to Oregon to see his family. Posting for the next week will be sporadic, at best.

So I'm leaving you with a couple of videos.

The first one should be titled "Black Mail." While the entire video is a real gem, the magic happens at 2:44 when he declares, "My bum scratches!"

Warning: This first video has a longer load time. Personally, I feel it's worth the wait.



It's nearly impossible to get Matthew to say any of his words for the camera. He always wants to watch himself and will flat out refuse to speak. However, the other night, his desire to eat tomato soup was bigger than his desire to watch himself on camera. He barely even knew it was there. We were finally able to catch some words on video.

417 Days In The Making

I'd like to apologize for my week long absence. We drove back from California on Sunday afternoon and Monday. Yesterday I couldn't find any words to blog. I felt oddly silent as I stood in the middle of a miracle. There are so many posts percolating in my mind regarding the events of last week, the moments of the past 417 days that I never blogged about, the way God changes perspective. I'm sifting through what to say and when to say it or, perhaps, if it should be said at all. There are so many things I wish I could write but won't. I wish I could talk about the way everything went down without interrupting the privacy of certain people (Matthew's other parents, attorneys, the judge, and other professionals involved in this case) but I just can't. Only time will tell what bubbles to the surface as I survey my new surroundings. You see, everything changes when a storm blows over.

Back at the beginning of all this I wrote a post about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. In the book of Daniel, Nebuchadnezzar tells the men that he will have them thrown into the fiery furnace if they refuse to worship his image of gold. They reply, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."

We have been rescued from the furnace. The way that God brought this all about has been nothing short of miraculous. The four of us, Matthew's parents, are embarking on an incredible journey together. We are calling each other family--and meaning it. On Friday we received a text from Matthew's father. In short it said that he felt good about his decision.

Two weeks ago my hope and prayer was that the trial would be over by yesterday. I didn't know if we would ever finalize Matthew's adoption. Today we went before a judge and did that very thing. We made Matthew an official and legal part of this family. The paperwork finally caught up with our hearts! A new birth certificate was ordered with the following name:

Matthew David Eric Doozleberry*

Matthew meaning Gift of God. David meaning Beloved. He shares this middle name with his daddy. Eric meaning Always Ruler. He shares this middle name with his father. We asked him if we could use one of his names so that Matthew would carry a name from each of the fathers who love him. He chose his middle name. Today, as Matthew squirmed and giggled in my arms we promised to love and care for him forever.

Back in October I posted a video...


Here is what's been happening since... (it's really only 4 minutes and 20 seconds)


Thank you so very much for your prayers and your support. It has meant the world to us.

*Not our actual last name, thank goodness!

What's That Smell?

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Is it just my husband or is a bad nose a characteristic of all men with children of diaper changing age? See, we have a loose "whoever smells it changes it" rule in our house. Generally speaking, this rule is implemented. However, if I have my hands all over dinner and I smell the stink, I will often defer to Troy. Also noteworthy is the fact that Garrett is often the first to smell his brother and alert the authorities. It's a good thing he does this because the image of Garrett trying to change his poopy brother is almost more than I can handle. Now, I'll give credit where credit is due. My husband changes a lot of diapers. A mere fraction of the diapers I change, of course, but he's a hands on diaper changing dad. It was something I made sure of before I walked down the aisle. I would have absolutely no part of a husband turned father who wouldn't change a diaper. To me, few things come across more misogynistic than a dude who thinks it is appropriate to father children and then pass their care--especially their diaper care--exclusively on to his wife. So Troy will totally and completely change diapers. It might be what I love most about him.

But. His nose is seriously lacking. Not only do I get the experience of changing Matthew all day long when Troy is at work, (which I gladly do in exchange for getting to stay home with my boys) I also have the misfortune of having a working nose--something my husband, apparently, does not have. I can walk into a room another state and smell my son's particular brand of stench. It's an interesting combination of your regular poo smell and a bizarre spicy stink. I can't explain it but it often smells like I've been stuffing him full of Indian food. Is that too much information? Moving right along. Matthew can be tumbling over Troy, climbing on him, and darn near sticking his diaper clad bum right in Troy's face and he will not smell it. I'll walk in and immediately say something like, "Don't you smell that?"

T: What?
Me: Your son's putrid diaper.
T: (sniffing dramatically) You know my nose doesn't work.
Me: (under my breath as I walk up the stairs) Convenient.

Often he'll add in a chivalrous, "I'll do it..." but I'm likely halfway through the whole ordeal by then. This whole situation is made more unfortunate by the fact that we could probably turn his poop into fuel and heat our entire home. It's a good day if there are less than four dirty diapers--a fact he'll be thrilled to find out I blogged about when he's an adolescent.

So. A funny thing happened last night. We had a moment where I smelled a stinky Matthew from across the room while Troy couldn't smell what was right under his nose. I told him I was going to blog about his convenient sense of smell. Later, he left for a study at the church. The Rock Star, Little Buddy and I baked sugar cookies. About an hour after Troy got home I asked, "Did you have a cookie?" The house, mind you, was filled with the heavenly smell of freshly baked cookies. He looked at me with a blank stare, said no, and asked me what I was talking about. The cookies were still on the counter.

He meandered into the kitchen, smiled, and grabbed a cookie. "Do you seriously not smell them?" I questioned.

"I told you my nose doesn't work!"

Well, at least it isn't always a matter of convenience.

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Also...I leave you with an interview with Garrett.

His Laugh

The Rock Star loves to play Wii. We don't have one but when we're in San Diego he has a great time playing with my parents' or my brother's. Mario Kart is a real favorite. He thinks it's hysterical to yank the wheel so that the racer runs into walls or falls off the track. It really is the opportune time to catch his laugh on video. See for yourselves...

More pictures

I've been meaning to show you all this onesie that my friend, Michelle, gave Matthew back in September. Giraffe. It's cute right? What you probably can't see is the writing underneath the giraffe.

Let's take a closer look...Priceless! I absolutely couldn't have possibly put it any better. When I put him in it I am reminded that there isn't a price tag hanging off of Matthew's arm. It doesn't matter. I'm also reminded of Kevin, Michelle & Karsie and I say a prayer. Sometimes they sound like what Garrett prayed this morning.

G: (climbing into the car after preschool) Mommy, is baby Tarsie still in the hospital? (He asks a lot.)
Me: Yes. She is.
G: Is she getting a shot right now?
Me: Probably not right now.
G: Is the doctor making her better?
Me: Yep. Do you want to say a prayer for her?
G: Uh-huh. (pause) Dear Jesus, thank you for this day. Thank you for Tarsie. Thank you that something is going on in her tummy. Please put your hands on her and make her all better. Amen.

Um. I didn't pick up the phone and called Michelle right then to relay the prayer to her. I'm not that proud of my son's prayer and his tender heart. I certainly wouldn't have felt the need to share it with Michelle. Oh, okay, I did.

So, in other The Rock Star news, he's decided that he is completely independent in the bathroom. Regardless of what kind of business he does, he doesn't want any help. Problem is, when he does serious business, he takes his clothes completely off. Often his pants end up on backwards. It's not a big deal. Except when I forget to fix them and we go out in public like this. It might be worse when I don't realize it until we get home.

And then, finally, a poll. Please watch this video and then tell me if he appears to be happy. Sometimes it's hard for me to tell...

Rewinding Time

Our next hearing is in two weeks. We get nervous when hearings are coming. It makes me wish I could speed time up and stop it all at once. It makes me wish I could flash forward and rewind simultaneously.

As for rewinding time, that I can only do in videos and pictures...

Finally! The Video

And then the world was a happier place because my video uploaded. I hope I didn't build it up so much that you now cry giant tears of disappointment. If nothing else, you now get to watch Little Buddy sleep. Frankly, there just isn't anything in the world more adorable than that.

In A Nutshell

What have I been up to since 1999? You mean, besides inventing Post-Its? Let's see. I obtained a degree in Theatre from Point Loma Nazarene University. I graduated three classes short of an additional degree in English Education. I married a pastor. I wanted to be a mom. It took awhile. While I was waiting I worked in an office doing accounts receivable. Then The Rock Star was born. Then I taught Drama. Then we moved to Utah. I became a stay at home mom and I really wanted another baby. So we started an adoption process. Little Buddy was placed in our home but his adoption is being challenged. Did I forget anything particularly major?

I'm not a CEO or an attorney. I don't even have a master's degree. So what am I proud of accomplishing during the past ten years? Well, mostly, this:

My family.

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My sister-in-law gave us this Johnny Jumper when Garrett was tiny. I hung it in the doorway of my bathroom so that I could shower without him screaming at me. He liked it alright for about a month of his life but he and the jumper were never truly inseparable. Matthew, on the other hand, would jump for hours and hours and, well, weeks...probably. Thank you, Julie, for giving us this jumper three years ago.

He jumps and jumps and jumps and then he does this.

Oh That Baby

No, the sound effects heard in this video are not, actually, bodily functions. I feel like it's pretty obvious but thought I should clarify on the off chance that you maybe thought they were.

This morning The Rock Star put a hard hat on Little Buddy. And see, Little Buddy loved it but, well, he looked like a bobble head doll and we thought it probably wasn't the best idea to have the weight of a hard hat on the neck of a 5 month old. So we took it away. And Matthew cried. So Troy gave him this instead. Then he was happy. The end.

Ode To the Departed*

When I woke up this morning

There was a sad sight

It seems our dear Hiss

Had died in the night

For almost a year

He'd done very well

So why he died

We just can't tell

We used the moment

To teach our young son

A bit about life

And what happens when we're done

I got a small box

And there lies our snake

For the Lord saw fit

That he should never again wake

At first I think Garrett
Thought the box was fun to fill
For in his sweet little head
He thought the snake was just very still

I taped the box tightly closed
A coffin I did make
Reading, "Here lies Hiss
A really a good snake."

He was very good for a quick garter snake
Sitting calmly in my hand while I held him
Allowing Garrett to kiss his small little head
And not getting freaked by every toddler whim

I dug a small snake sized hole

With the help of a wee little guy
Who was learning that it's really no fun

When our beloved pets die

We put Hiss in the ground

In the hole that I dug

Then Garrett started in with

"Please, mommy, one last hug!"

Of course we couldn't allow

Our son to hug a dead reptile

And that's when the morning became

All tears and not even one smile

Troy buried the casket under the dirt

And Garrett's emotions hit the wall

He frantically tried to undig his pet

Troy held him close while he did bawl

So here lies our sweet little snake
Who joined our family last summer
He was so little, just a few days old
Three seasons later, his death is a bummer

We'll miss you, dear Hiss
We'll miss you a ton
Though no one quite as much
As my precious little son...

"Goodbye, snake. I love you so much."

*Not technically an ode, I know.

Oh Those Boys

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This is what The Rock Star wore in the garden the other day. He was barefoot and had a complete meltdown when he stood on an ant hill and had a couple critters climbing his legs. "Never fear," The Rock Star thought once he'd composed himself, "I have just the solution.
Snow boots!"


As I kissed him good night and whispered that I'd be back to check on him after I put on my pajamas and brushed my teeth and took out my contacts, the following conversation occurred-

G: Mommy, are you tinky?

Me: I don't know. Am I?
G: Let me smell you. (I lean in close and he buries his nose in my hair.) You tink.

Me: (laughing) What do I smell like?

G: Like berry sausage.
Me: (incredulous) Like berry sausage?

G: Yep. And yogurt. And oatmeal.

I have no idea what berry sausage is. Apparently, however, I smelled like a breakfast buffet. I find it incredibly interesting that I smelled like sausage and oatmeal, especially since I don't like either. Don't bother telling me that I don't know what I'm missing on the oatmeal front. I do know. I know it's warm and filling and perfect for cold mornings. I wish I liked it. I yearn to like it. Problem is, I don't like it.

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The day before Matthew was born, his birth mama gave us two soft, fuzzy blankets. We send her pictures and letters frequently and the last time I spoke with her on the phone she asked if I would take some pictures of him with the blankets. I think, given the fact that she gave us her son after lugging him around for nine months and then having a Cesarean, that it's probably the least I can do.

Here's Matthew, just three days shy of three months old.

Please excuse his immodesty. They were fresh out of infant bras at WalMart.

And this last one is my favorite.

Here is more of Matthew "talking". First of all, beware of the phantom hand. It looks creepy and darts in and out of the shot with near lightning speed. Second, forgive the annoying sounding mommy about halfway through. He talks much better when he's being spoken to (especially when the voice sounds like a total ninny). Third, I am not gagging my son. I promise. He always talks (laughs, smiles, etc.) when his lips and/or tongue is tickled.

Nuclear Meltdown

The Rock Star started swimming lessons last night. When he was teeny he adored the pool. It made my heart swell up big and warm in my chest and pitter patter with pride. Sometime over the course of the past year, he's become fearful, like his scaredy cat father used to be when he was young so many kids his age. I signed him up for a parent and child class with high hopes that he would get over his trepidation in time to take a 3 year old class in August. It's not that he won't get in, it's just that he clings to me like a baby monkey.

The class began as a total disaster. First he wanted a noodle and, well, the noodles weren't for his class they were for a different one. Then he wanted the bucket of toys for his class. He would not pay attention for love or money or the fear of punishment. He wanted the bucket of toys filled with tons of tiny duckies. I asked his teacher if he could hold one so that we might accomplish something other than, "Mommy, I want a ducky." She said we were just about to get ducks anyway and that would be perfectly fine. She fished out a particularly cute little duck with a baseball hat. Slowly but surely, Garrett started becoming a little more brave and a little less terrified.

Step One: Smiling and happy, he loves the water as long as someone is holding him in a vice grip. Can you see his legs wrapped around my torso? It was like this one wedding dress I tried on. It was nice and all but I really didn't want to pass out during my own nuptials. Swimming with Garrett is kind of like that. Every minute or so I have to pry him off of me just to suck in two lungs full of air.

Step Two: Garrett gets a little brave and tries to blow the duck away with his bubbles. Here he's only clawing me with one hand instead of two and only one leg is wrapped around my own leg 782 times so that he is absolutely sure I won't be able to let go of him.

Step Three: Brave boy lets go of his mama with both legs and one arm! I'm holding him up with my left arm and he's gripping it tightly with his hand but the fact that three limbs are removed from my body is nothing short of miraculous.
Step Four: Well. We have no pictures of step four. When his lesson was over and it was time to put away the ducky, Garrett freaked out. And by freaked out I mean, of course, that he threw a colossal tantrum right there in the indoor pool enclosure. By freaked out I mean that he was clawing me and kicking me and shrieking about "I want my little ducky!". By freaked out I mean that he didn't turn into a tornado or a hurricane or tsunami. Oh no. This kid was only moments short of being an all out nuclear holocaust all by himself.

Now, in fairness to Garrett, I do believe that he formed some sort of odd attachment to the duck. I used it to get him to float on his back. I used it to get him to fall off the wall into my arms. I used it to get him to blow bubbles and paddle. I did not use it to get him to kick. If there's one thing The Rock Star really, truly likes to do in the pool it's kick. But that duck had gotten him over some hurdles yesterday. And then, just like that, Ducky was gone. I tried explaining that he lived at the pool with his brothers and sisters and mommy and daddy. I tried telling him he could see it again on Wednesday. Nothing worked. He screamed total and complete bloody murder for that darn duck. Odd attachment or not, no son of mine is going to behave like that in public and get away with it. Especially when his behavior made it look like we'd never told the child no in all his 33 months of life.

I have never been more humiliated by my child ever in his entire life. Ever.

The entire crowd of parents, children, lifeguards, and swimming instructors were staring at us as the scene unfolded. Garrett has never behaved that badly in public. Never. Thank goodness his father was there. Troy took him straight out and I followed with the baby. By the time I got out to the car, Garrett was still screaming. It was completely horrendous.

When we got home he was punished. He was also informed that he will be apologizing to his swimming teacher on Wednesday. I only wish I could get him a megaphone so that he could apologize to each and every parent, child, teacher and lifeguard. I wish he could take it all back so that my cheeks had never experienced such a scarlet shade of red. But, well, he can't. So I've moved on.

I know that tomorrow we're taking our own duck to swimming lessons. I do not intend to put poor little Baseball Ducky through that again. Or anyone else for that matter.

I'll leave you with a short little clip of Garrett and the Duck...before the atom bomb was dropped.