Happy Father's Day to My Husband, the Sap!

There’s no question that when Little Lewie was born, I became overly sentimental. In fact, I think my gushiness may have even started the moment I found out I was pregnant. I would get teary eyed at the mere sight or sound of a baby. In fact, even now, there is a list of things that I need to stay away from if I want to keep my composure. Some items on this list include

• Lullabies

• Storybooks, especially The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein and Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

• Baby clothes, especially little booties

• Baby mobiles (again, the music gets to me)

• Cuddly stuffed animals

• Mother’s Day and Father’s Day cards

Just as recently as this week, I was looking at several Father’s Day cards, when I read one that got me so emotional, I had to bury myself into the corner of the store and hide. I grabbed my sunglasses and attempted to walk out of the store looking calm and collected. What happened to me?!

Well, I’m happy to say that I’m not the only one in the family who cries at the mere thought of having Little Lewie in my life. Big Lewie, my husband, has become a sap, too. Big time! His first noticeable outburst happened while I was pushing Little Lewie from my vagina. He stood by my side, amazed, with tears streaming down his face. Of course, his tears turned to all out sobbing as the doctor handed us our precious, tiny newborn. It was a sight that will be forever embedded in my mind.

From that day on, I watched my husband’s mommy gene kick in. Time and time again, my husband would be the first to offer to give him a bath, change his clothes, give him a bottle, rock him to sleep, and even change his diaper. He was proud to take care of Little Lewie’s basic needs and even prouder when it came to dressing Little Lewie and showing him off. “I’ll pick out his clothes,” my husband insisted one day as he pushed me away from the closet. “Little Lewie, how do you like this little foggy and chickie outfit? It’s going to look so cute on you, my little L.L. Cool J (stands for Little Lewie “Cool” Jayden). He’d very neatly dress his son into the most adorable outfit he could find and then brush our little boy’s blonde, curly hair into one of many styles. I couldn’t help but laugh as my macho, Metallica loving, tattoo covered husband turned into our son’s hairstylist. “Little Lewie…today we are going to spike your hair,” or “today, we are going to slick down your hair and give you the professional CEO look. Well, look at you. Is my Little Lewie ready for an interview? You look so dapper.”

As my husband spoke to our son, his voice would easily climb up three or four octaves. He would endearingly call our little boy names like Chubby Knuckles, Little Chubby Custard, and Skids. Of course, most of the time, both of us would just sound like a bunch of bumbling, repetitious idiots. “Little Lewie, you are so cute. How did you get so cute, Little Lewie? You are so amazing. Look at you. We love you so much. Oh we love you oh so much, Little Lewie.” (I think you get the idea.)

My husband’s true testament of love for our son came the day he decided to shave off his goatee. I had fallen asleep in the recliner, only to wake up to my husband’s face being an inch away from my own. “You scared me,” I said, startled.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked while stroking his shiny, naked chin.

“Am I dreaming?” I asked, completely serious.

“I shaved off my goatee,” my husband announced, still thinking I hadn’t noticed the change.

“You look so young. I can’t believe it.”

“Do you think I look funny?” he asked. “I know I have a big upper lip that I’m used to hiding with my mustache.”

“No, you look great. I always thought you should shave it all off. Why the change now?”

“Well, you know, Little Lewie does have sensitive skin, and I really think I’ve been irritating it lately from kissing him so much. I don’t want to give him a rash.”

Nice, I thought to myself. Oh how I couldn’t stand that prickly mustache. For the six years we’d been together, he never once thought about shaving it off for me, but three months after the baby’s arrival, and it was gone. We later learned that Little Lewie’s reddish skin irritation was a form of baby eczema due to a milk allergy, but nonetheless, my husband showed he was willing to do anything for our little boy.

Watching my husband’s daily interaction with Little Lewie could really be a unique character study. Like most fathers, he enjoys tickling, making funny faces, belching, and even releasing the occasional fart to entertain our little squirt. Because my husband loves music, he also sings, dances, and plays the drums and guitar for him. (He has dreams of creating a father-son band that goes on tour together, probably as soon as Little Lewie’s third birthday. “Our son’s going to be a child prodigy,” my husband announces each time Little Lewie tries to strum the guitar using his little rake like motion.) If Little Lewie isn’t interested in playing an instrument when he’s older, he might, instead, be interested in joining the circus as his dad also performs a juggling act for him on a nightly basis with his three colored fish. Really, there’s no telling what special talent my husband is going to execute next as he is the grandmaster of all useless, annoying, and bizarre tricks. Perhaps the yoyo or even the ventriloquist puppet will be the next to come out.

There’s no question that my husband has become more sentimental since Little Lewie’s birth. Unlike when it was just the two of us, Big Lewie now comes home directly after work, ditches his friends’ phone calls and invites, and even, occasionally, cancels band practice. It’s been amazing to watch this transition as my husband has now, gulp, matured. He loves our little guy and will go great lengths to prove it. The other day I walked into the bathroom to see that my husband was sitting on the toilet, peeing. “What are you doing?” I asked, unsure if I really wanted to know the answer.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m peeing sitting down.”

“Why?”

“I know I pee loud standing up, so I’m peeing like this. I don’t want to wake the baby.”

“Oh,” I answered and gently closed the door.

Has my husband turned into a sap? Yes, but I’ll admit that I do love it. Happy Father’s Day to my one and only very special cornball husband!

The NO Factor (Discipline for Toddlers)

These days, the words “Mommy said NO” seem to involuntarily fly out of my mouth faster than the speed of lightening. When there’s a toddler around, the word “no” can mean one of four things…

1. No, you’re going to hurt yourself (if you keep banging your head against the door.)
2. No, you’re going to hurt mommy (if you keep poking me in the eye with your bubble wand.)
3. No, you’re going to break something (if you keep running around in circles until you’re dizzy and then crash into the furniture.)
4. No, we can’t continue to do this all day (because mommy’s tired, and she needs a Margarita.)

I’ll admit, I’m not a fan of the word “no.” In fact, I’d rather be one of those parents who never says it at all. After all, I can still vividly remember those fun days of jumping on the couch when my mother or grandmother was not in the room to scold me. I loved jumping on the couch, and it was even more fun when I could take flying leaps from one couch to the other. Of course, I don’t let my little boy do this even though I see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes when he begins. “No Lewie, sit on your butt….Lewie, I said NO. Now sit on your butt! Lewie, Mommy said NO!”

Lil’ Lewie seems to get into the most trouble when we’re at home, and he’s bored. While I’m stuffing dirty laundry into the washing machine, the eyes in back of my head will notice that he’s reaching for the flat screen TV, trying to stick his nose in the electrical outlet, or attempting to flush the toilet for the forty-fourth time. It’s too easy for him to get into trouble, and the “no’s” project out of my mouth as quickly and routinely as a baseball pitching machine tosses its balls into the air.

After a full day of “Mommy said NO,” Daddy comes home from work only to be the Mr. Yes guy. I mean my husband will still say NO, but if he starts playing with Lil’ Lewie, the boredom dies down and before we know it, Lil’ Lewie is now having way too much fun with Daddy to ever consider getting into mischief. Thus, the paradox of parenthood begins.

So, as much as it makes me the bad guy to say NO all day long, I know it’ll be worth it some day. I don’t expect that Lil’ Lewie will ever give me a Mother’s Day card that reads, “Thanks for telling me NO all these years,” but maybe it’ll say something like “Thanks for being a great Mom,” and I’ll know that part of the package of being a great mom is saying that ugly two letter word.

Does anyone else feel like they’ve become a NO person? There’s a great article about the alternatives to saying NO called Discipline for Toddlers.

Bahama Mama

Okay, I know Bahama Mamas are drinks, but hey I’m a mama and I was in the Bahamas. After the painful plane flight with our toddler, it was nice to say that the rest of our trip was surprisingly fun and relaxing. Little Lewie easily sat in his stroller during our jaunts to and from the beach, he giggled furiously while trying to swim in the pool, and he even enjoyed jet skiing and parasailing with us. (Hey, you gotta love the lax rules in the Bahamas.) No, Lil’ Lewie didn’t actually glide in the sky with us, but he did go on the boat while my husband and I alternated turns between watching him and flying at 600 ft above the ocean surface.

My husband was the first to go. Lil’ Lewie watched curiously as the harness was fastened around Daddy and Daddy was led to the back of the boat. What’s going on? his little mind appeared to be thinking. Then, from out of nowhere, the rainbow colored sail was released, and Daddy was swept into the sky by the likes of a big colorful balloon. What the hell? A big balloon just came and snatched up Daddy! “Don’t worry, Little Lewie,” I said trying to console him. “Look Daddy’s waving to us. He’s okay.” Little Lewie took one look at me with his furrowed brows and then looked again at Daddy who now appeared to be the size of a dot in the sky. The poor boy. I prayed to myself that the whole experience wouldn’t traumatize him. He remained noticeably anxious until he started to see that Daddy was now becoming larger and moving closer to us again. Whew, that was a close call. We almost lost Daddy forever, his little expression seemed to say as Daddy glided down from his big colorful balloon back onto the boat. Then, Lil’ Lewie had the pleasure of watching the process all over again with me.

Since we felt Lil’ Lewie was still too young to enjoy sight seeing, we spent our entire trip enjoying the beach and the pool. The time went by fast, and while we enjoyed doing things together as a family, we also made sure to give each other some needed alone time to swim, use the Jacuzzi, or just relax. It wasn’t the most romantic of trips as we used to be able to use the Jacuzzi, jet ski, or relax on the beach together, but hey, a wise person once said that having children is the best form of birth control, and since we’re not ready to have another baby, having Little Lewie around certainly worked wonders in that area.

What was Little Lewie’s favorite part of the trip? I think there was a tie. He loved the pool, but he loved the elevator leading to our hotel room on the seventh floor too. In fact, he loved pushing the elevator buttons so much that he’d get his little pointer finger ready for action the minute he saw us enter the hotel lobby. It was his big moment.

Yes, for four full days, I was a Bahama Mama. Would I do it all over again with a two year-old? You betcha.

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Soaring the Cranky Skies: Traveling with My Toddler Part II

Okay, so after my little boy burst into a full out tantrum in the airport and forced us to spill a smoothie all over the airport carpet, we picked his limp, screaming body up and proceeded to do the walk of shame all the way until we boarded the airplane. I sighed as I thought we wouldn’t have to wrestle with Lil’ Lewie anymore after finding our seats. Boy was I in for a rude awakening!

I took the window seat, Lil’ Lew reluctantly sat in the middle, and my husband took the aisle seat. We bought a CARES Child Aviation Restraint System, which was supposed to easily keep Lil’ Lew situated in his seat, but as we attached it to the back of the seat and buckled the straps around his little body, our boy fought the straps and screamed with all his might. “I thought this would be better than using our car seat,” I said apologetically to my husband who was losing his patience by the second. Quickly, I reached for our bag of goodies—snacks, books, new toys, etc. “How about a treat, Lewie?” I asked as I grabbed one of his favorite wafer snacks and waved it in front of him. The response was a continuous whine while he pushed my hand with the wafer away. “Okay, let’s look at your new book? Look there’s a chicken. What’s this? Is this an egg? Can you lift up the egg to see what’s underneath?”

“Waah, Waaaaahhhh,” he replied as he proceeded to scoot his little body down the seat and out of the restraint system.

“How did he do that?” my husband asked, surveying the straps.

“Great! In less than two minutes, he figured a way out of the restraint system and the airplane seatbelt. That’s just great!”

We tried the restraint again; this time it seemed to keep him in, but he’d continue to scoot down until the buckle and strap were rubbing against his face and neck.

“That can’t be comfortable,” Lewie mumbled. “I’m going to take him out. It’s making him miserable.”

Fortunately, the flight crew didn’t make us use the system, so we packed it away, but that didn’t end our little boy’s fight. He tried lying on the seat and assuming all types of positions, but to no avail. It was obvious that he was tired, but the airplane seat just wasn’t comfortable. He didn’t want our laps either.

I reached for another toy. “Lewie, look it’s your very own cell phone. It’s your friend. He wants to talk to you. He wants you to enjoy your first flight.”

“Like that will happen,” my husband replied.

Lewie took the phone and appeared to be amused for a few minutes during our lift off. Yes, success, I thought, but when the flight crew started walking down the aisle and handing out drinks, Lil Lewie was miserable once again. He wanted out of his seat altogether. He pushed and pushed my husband’s legs as he shrieked, wanting to have access to the aisle; after all, in his little mind, he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to walk in the aisle like everyone else. We were just mean jerks.

The three hour flight repeated a vicious cycle. Ten minutes of peace and quiet while I entertained him with one of his toys, ten minutes of unrelenting crying and throwing himself off the seat and onto the floor in front of him, and ten minutes of whining while he struggled to get comfortable enough to take a nap. The cycle never stopped, and he was never able to take a nap until our plane landed and we were finally situated in our long awaited hotel room. I crossed my fingers that the flight home would be different. It wasn’t.

Soaring the Cranky Skies: Flying with My Toddler

Okay, I knew flying with Little Lewie, my now 21 month old, would be difficult. There's a reason why there are plenty of websites created just for giving advice about flying and traveling with kids. I took it seriously. Really. I hid some of Little Lewie’s favorite toys for weeks and bought new, interesting ones to entertain him on the flight. I packed his favorite, comfort blanket. (I swear my kid is just like Linus from Snoopy and the Peanuts gang.) I packed milk and favorite snacks, and I even bought Little Lewie his own seat (not cheap to say the least).

The trip itself was planned around Little Lewie. We love traveling to the West Coast and to Europe, but for us, traveling to those destinations are at least six hours away by plane. Instead, we agreed on going to the Bahamas—it was only a three hour flight, and we could fly nonstop from New York. Surely, he will be able to handle a three hour flight, I thought. He might be a little cranky in the beginning, but we’ll be able to entertain him or help him fall asleep. I even called his pediatrician; the nurse assured me that Little Lewie wouldn’t need any type of sedative. “He’ll be fine for three hours,” she said.

So, less than three days ago, we woke up Little Lewie at 5 a.m., so we could get him dressed and ready to leave with us for the airport. (We had a 9 a.m. flight.) He seemed to be in good spirits and feeling well. He drank his entire morning bottle and even had a little bit to eat. Every time I glanced at him from behind my seat, he was smiling or at least looked pleasantly amused. As we crossed the border into New York, however, Lewie began to vomit uncontrollably. “Oh my God, we need to pull over,” I gasped as my husband pulled onto the shoulder of the highway. Our Little Lewie never gets sick. I mean never. But there, all over his brand new travel outfit and car seat, was a nasty yellowish (well now you get the picture). We pulled him out of his car seat onto the grass, and my husband cleaned up the car seat while I began to change Little Lewie into the one and only outfit I packed in his diaper bag. (Thank goodness we didn’t need another one.) We weren’t exactly prepared for a vomiting episode. Baby wipes and Dunkin’ Donuts napkins were all we had. Somehow, my poor little one managed to get vomit in his hair and so while I cleaned him up for the most part, he still smelled like vomit for the rest of plane trip—not exactly ideal for my husband and I who already get travel sickness on airplanes.

Getting our tickets and passing through security at the airport went relatively smooth, but we were dumb to take him out of his stroller at the gate. I had the bright idea of trying out his new little backpack, monkey harness. (Yes, I know, it’s like a leash for kids.) The harness was recommended for toddlers in an airport. After all, I didn’t want him to run out of my reach and get lost in the crowd. Well, Little Lewie didn’t appreciate his monkey buddy. If fact, he loathed him. Every time I would tug on the tail to let Little Lewie know he was going in the wrong direction, my child would scream, jolt backward, and hit his head on the floor, which prompted, of course, a louder fit of screaming and crying. People at the airport scolded me with their dagger eyes—What an awful mother. She needs a leash and still can’t control her own kid. I felt shameful. My husband tried to help me, but as Little Lewie used all of his might to free his body from the backpack, my husband’s newly purchased smoothie tipped over and spilled all over the airport carpet. We had nothing to clean it up. We used everything we had to clean up Little Lewie’s vomit. Now people really hated us. Evidently, it appeared that we not only couldn’t control our own kid, but now we were the white trash that made messes at the airport and didn’t clean up after ourselves…TO BE CONTINUED

Gender...

Gender is a curious thing. My little boy is beautiful. He has long, curly, blonde locks and an angelic smile that could easily compete with any little girl his age. Complete strangers tell me how beautiful and pretty he is, and since I still like to consider my 21 month old as my baby, I’m flattered by the comments. After all, he is my beautiful baby. However, I suppose in a few years beautiful will no longer be considered a compliment. In fact, he may grow to despise the word as boys are supposed to be handsome, rugged, strapping, and muscular—not beautiful!

Underneath this angelic aura, however, Little Lewie is all boy. By as early as his fourth month in this world, he showed me his taste for jokes by laughing at all my fart noises. The more disgusting the sound, the better, and by the seventh month, he was actually repeating these nauseating noises. Language, then and even now, is not important to him, but making sound effects—particularly strange, repulsive ones—is on the top of his list.

Here are a few other gender clues, which have surfaced before his second birthday. It’s no wonder that men and women seem to be from two different worlds.

9) He’s not afraid of bugs.

8) He likes to eat dirt, bark, and moss.

7) He likes to take things apart and figure out how they work mechanically.

6) He loves being messy. (His nails perpetually have dirt under them, which makes me question whether it’s not really dirt at all, but some sort of odd pigmentation he was born with…)

5) He loves to jump and play in mud puddles. In fact, he searches for them.

4) He loves all trucks and cars.

3) He’s fascinated by the most trivial things, such as the crack in the wall or the finger paintings he can make with his food.

2) He’s interested in learning how to drive. Thus, if I let him crawl in the driver’s seat while we are parked, he already knows where to place the keys, how to shift gears, how to honk the horn, and how to operate other car mechanisms. (I swear he knows more than I did as a sixteen years-old preparing for my driver’s license.)

1) He’s interested in grabbing and displaying his manhood.

Toys from the 70's Rock!

Being an only child, I’ll admit that I have had many advantages as a kid—my own toys, my own bedroom, my own playroom, and of course, all of my parents’ attention. Knowing how sentimental my mom still is about my childhood, I wasn’t surprised when she told me that she very neatly tucked away all of my baby toys in her upstairs attic. Perhaps she thought I was going to have siblings, or knowing her, she packed them away precisely for what she’s using them for now, her grandchildren. (She’s that proactive.) I forgot about them, but little by little, they started reappearing each time my mom had a chance to watch Little Lewie.

At first I thought the notion was cute—“Awww, look, Little Lewie is playing with my old toys. I guess you can say they’ve been passed down from one generation to the next.” However, as I started watching him interact with the toys, I realized that they were more interesting to him than his new toys. Sure his new toys have all the “bells and whistles;” they sing in different languages, they make sound effects, they move on their own, and they’re super colorful. They’re basically “eye candy” for the baby. They prompt him to push a button, and watch out—there goes a laser beam, a sound effect, and flashing lights. Parents don’t even have to be in the room for these toys to entertain. Nevertheless, besides pushing the button, Little Lewie doesn’t have to do anything else except be a passive observer.

The toys from my generation were a little different. Most required my power to operate them, and some of them required his ability to learn skills—hand operations way more advanced than simply pushing a button. Sure, in essence, they required more work on both his and my part, but believe me, the reward of seeing him giggle and coo every time they are taken out is well worth it. To provide some examples, I’ve decided to list his top three favorite toys—all former inhabitants of my old toy box.

1) Squeak-a-Boo (Fisher Price)—Squeak-a-Boo is a stuffed animal that looks like a brown furry triangle with large ears, small feet, and a bright orange/yellow face. (It kind of reminds me of a very primitive Ewok. My husband thinks he looks more like a flying squirrel.) His ears very cleverly have slots to place your fingers, so you can easily bend them to cover his eyes while squeaking them at the same time. Using one hand, I waddle little Squeak-a-Boo to my son while positioning his ears to cover over his eyes. Then, I say “squeak-a-boo” and squeak his ears respectively while lifting his ears to show off his bright blue eyes and face. I only show his face for a second because then I cover it with his ears again. “Oh my goodness!” I say. “Did you see his face? He’s playing peek-a-boo with you. Hey Little Lewie, are you ready…? Squeak-a-boo!”
Squeak-a-Boo hops all over the place—to the right, to the left, on top of my son’s head. My son laughs each and every time Squeak-a-Boo squeaks and/or uncovers his face. The design is brilliant—way better than any other stuffed animal in his collection.

2) Peek-a-Boo Block (Fisher Price)—Yes, I know, another peek-a-boo concept toy, but he loves it! When Little Lewie was seventh months-old, my mom decided to take it out. It’s a yellow plastic block (a little larger than a traditional sized Rubik’s Cube) that has four bright red wheels. It’s connected to a pumping device with a fairly long cord. When you press the pump, the air makes the block squeak and pushes a little cylindrical shaped boy out of the top. The top of the block has a little door, so the door is pushed open every time the little boy comes out and closes again when the boy falls back inside. Since the pump has a long cord, my mom and I drag or roll the block around while we control the squeaking and the surprise appearance of the little boy.

When my mom dragged the block out for the first time, my Little Lewie went buck wild. “What is it?” we asked him as he curiously watched the block roll, squeak, and surprise him at varying times around the room. Sometimes the block would squeak without the appearance of the little boy, and other times, if we applied more pressure on the pump, the block would squeak with the little boy coming out at the same time. He loved the surprise element—the fact that he couldn’t predict just when that little boy might pop up.

If his thunderous laughter wasn’t loud enough the first time, it became all the louder as we brought the block up close to him, so he could see it in full view. He’d try to put his little hand on top of the block to examine it, but every time he did, we’d surprise him. “There he is. Oh no, there’s the little boy again. Can you catch him? No, he’s too fast!”

My little boy did eventually tire of the block. It happened about two and a half months later when he started realizing how we controlled it. Nevertheless, I’d say almost four months of everyday use and laughter is quite an achievement for a toy.

3) Busy Surprise Box (Kohner Bros. Inc.)—The Busy Surprise Box is a plastic yellow box, with carrying handle, that gives Little Lewie five different types of levers to pull, push, dial, flip, or slide to master hand coordination. When triggering these levers, a colored door pops up with a “surprise.” Among the “surprises” are a lion, a cat, a dog, a little brown haired boy, and a little red headed girl. (There are modern toys that are similar.) In the beginning, I almost labeled this toy obsolete because it had a rotary dial. “Who uses a rotary phone anymore?” I questioned, but the reality is that each of these skills is important to master as they improve overall hand-eye coordination.

Initially, I wasn’t sure how Little Lewie would like the toy since it doesn’t have flashing lights or sound effects. The pop-up doors are pretty basic; the only sound that comes from them is the noise of the trigger releasing and plastic hitting upon plastic. Still, it turned out to be on the top three list of favorites. It keeps him busy and entertained as he tries to figure out each of the levers. (At nine months-old, he has now mastered three of them.) For close to an hour, he practices his little skills and appreciates the “reward” or “surprise” when getting them correct. Even more, he has figured out how to close, or push down, the doors themselves. I’m not sure if this is an early sign of OCD behavior, but after each door pops-up, he makes sure to push it down again before proceeding. This toy makes me so proud of my little boy!

So, in closing, if you have old toys in an attic somewhere or have a chance to frequent a local tag sale, flee market, Goodwill Store, or Freecycle center, it might be worth investigating what treasures are out there. There may be some cheap but exquisitely designed toys that will make your baby’s list of favorites.