Who needs toys?

We have a basket of toys that we set down on Alex's playmat for him to play with. Pretty much within 6 seconds he has all of the toys out of the basket and he just sits turning the empty basket over and over. Here is proof that we no longer need any toys for the child...just empty containers. And how do you like that "laugh" he has acquired?

Party on Wayne!

The first BBQ of the season was Saturday night. Brent and Kari had a bunch of us over for delicious food, home-brewed beer, and Michigan Rummy. Yummy and fun!

It is super convenient when we hang out over there because Alex sleeps very well there, barely wakes up for the 1 block walk home, and quickly falls back asleep when we put him in his crib. All of these factors combine their kick-ass forces to mean one thing: we don't have to go home at any specific time. Yay!

Now in past summers, these BBQ's would easily last until the wee hours of the morning. Saturday, we were home by midnight. It was like we were afraid our beautiful party clothes were going to turn to rags Cinderella-style. Not only were we home by midnight, we went straight to bed.

My thoughts were confirmed by a phone call from Kari the next morning. The sole purpose of that call was to make sure I was aware of the end time of the party. And reiterate that we are officially old. Which was further confirmed this morning when I opened the bathroom cabinet to get my hairbrush. The only hair on it? A single long gray strand just sitting atop the bristles. Clearly saying, "Good morning!...You old hag."

Getting Even

Saturday morning was just like every other morning...started at 5:30 in the AM. Alex woke up to eat, we played for a little bit and then he looked kinda tired so we snuggled up on the couch. We both fell asleep. An hour and half later, we woke up. It was then that I realized how deeply asleep we both had been. He looked more confused than me trying to pass 3rd semester Calculus in college...and I had drooled on his head. Drooled, ON HIS HEAD.

I am counting it as payback for the gazillion times he has barfed on me. Alex: 1,087,362 - Me: 1.

Part 2...of what will probably be 1 million

We had another kitchen floor and face meeting this morning. Although this one was not nearly as traumatic. This time his face met the floor from a sitting on the floor position. Less height+less velocity=less trauma. And none of this would have happened if those darn dog bowls weren't so enticing. Alex was completely content playing with his toys, until something shiny caught his eye. He is totally our kid. Easily distracted. Anyway, we have shiny silver dog dishes and their siren song was too much for the boy to resist.

Aside from the crying, the result of him giving in to the temptation was pretty darn funny. He managed to completely twist his torso around and stretch his little arm out as far as he could. The result...Alex on his stomach, completely stretched out, face mushed into the linoleum, with his little dimpled left hand just inches from the water dish. You know those dramatic pictures of people in the desert all stretched out reaching for the only oasis for hundreds of miles...that was the look.

Luckily with a little snuggle and some bouncing in rhythm with his kicking, he was right as rain...and immediately reaching for the next thing that caught his eye.

Ready....GO!...or not.

This kid is so close to crawling it is killing me. I still like the fact that he is mostly immobile, but come on already.

He is now to the point that when he does manage to get his knees under himself, he immediately starts rocking. Kinda like he is a wind up race car. You know...the ones that you have to pull back a million times to wind up the wheels...and then you set it down and let 'er rip! It's kinda like that. Only there is no "let 'er rip" part. Just the winding up. Followed quickly by flattening out. MatchBox would not be impressed.

The thing that is killing me the most is how frustrated he gets. He knows he wants to move. He knows where he wants to go and what he wants to get. He just can't put all the steps together to make it happen. And wow does that piss him off. This is where my multiple issues come in.

1. I know I have to let him figure it out.
2. I know eventually he will figure it out.
3. I don't like seeing my sweet little beast boy frustrated.
4. I really don't like the noise my sweet little beast boy makes when he is frustrated. Anger mixed with sad, whimpery, incoherent pleading for someone, anyone to fix the problem. It is not a good color on him.

And so go the daily lessons in patience at the Julius House-Madison Edition.

And we still suck

Alex got to take his first trip to the dog park yesterday! It could not have gone better. The sling worked perfectly, the dog was super well behaved and the sun was shining brightly. The cool thing about the sling is that he doesn't have to lay down in it. You can have him sitting up so it just holds him on your hip without you having to hold on to him. At least that's how it worked for Travis. Once I took him, the little beast kept diving and wiggling all over the place until he got his little butt out of the sling...at which point he cackled hysterically like an evil little troll.

I love the park we take Aiden to because there is a lake for her to play in, wooded areas for her to "hunt" little critters (read: leaves), and wide open spaces for her to run to her heart's content. And run she did. It was really cool to watch Alex though. Every time Aiden would come back into sight, he would start kicking his little legs and squeal with delight. He loves that dog. And it is no secret that she loves him. Even now that he can poke her in the eye and pull on her ears. She either just gets up and walks away, or scoots over and licks his face. I do think she is also relishing in the last moments of him not being mobile.

I would post some pictures of how cute the whole fam damily was at the park...but alas, I still have not learned to stop the lack of documentation. No camera. Shocking right?

He might be Irish

Alex had his first Irish meal last night. A sampling of an Irish meal anyway. We went out for Corned Beef and Cabbage for dinner. He sat on Trav's lap and ate anything Trav was willing to share. He tried everything except the bread. He loved everything...corned beef, carrots, cabbage, potatoes.

I am not sure how to get this trait of eating EVERYTHING we give him to stick. Do I need to promise my soul to someone nasty? Done and done. It would make me a very happy person to not have to hear, "I don't like that" before he tries something. If he doesn't like it after trying...fair enough. Although thus far that has not been the case. Could a love of most things edible possibly be an inherited gene? Can you pass on being a foodie?

I also realized we are positively terrible about documenting anything with pictures/video. A normal parent would have brought a camera along when she knew her baby was going to be eating his first Irish dinner. I didn't even think to bring a single toy along much less a camera. Apparently "normal" is not an adjective that would be in my parent-bio.