PoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop.

at 1:52 p.m. today. To say Sam is "relieved" is like saying "Richard Simmons is effeminate."

Poop Watch: Day 11

Yep, it's been 11 days and still no substantive bowel movement from our youngest.  The list of suggested home remedies has grown substantially however:

1. Caro (Dark Corn Syrup) dissolved in water (worked the first two times, but not this time, despite three attempts, so far); 
   
2. Pear Juice (not attempted yet, but likely queued up now);
3. Prune Juice (not attempted yet; pending medical review and approval); and, last but not least,
4. Latex glove, lots of lubricant and one pinky finger in the rear.  

I am not kidding about the last one.  That was one parent's suggestion, followed by, "I had tried everything else so I just gave it a shot and it finally made her poop."  

Oh. My. God. Sam and I would be in counseling for years.  We are NOT going to have that conversation someday, sorry.  So, kid, you better figure out how to pass it or suffer the consequences because I am not becoming your personal proctologist so we can call you "regular."

Lessons in Patience: Picking a Pumpkin.

Now that we have kids, picking a pumpkin for Halloween becomes a much more involved process.  Last year, we took Jack to the pumpkin patch to pick out his pumpkin for carving.  The "pumpkin patch" is the masquerading front lawn of a local church, raising money by charging unsuspecting passersby ungodly rates for oversized squash.  Jack loved last year's experience, and with Sam in tow this year, we ventured off to see which locally-grown orange sphere would grace our front patio this year.  And, of course, photo opportunities always abound.  

Jack decided that picking a proper Halloween decoration included lifting up the pumpkins and throwing them down, a move that immediately put the Patch Police on high alert.  We attempted to remedy the conduct, ensuring Jack understood that further trespass to the well being of the gourds would result in his prompt removal.  He continued, undeterred.  (It was later discovered that Captain Destructo was operating on a diminishing energy reserve, having woken up "too early" that morning, further compounded by not having been properly fed after church.)  Attempting civility (and a lame form of distraction), we tried taking family photo:

While Sam did his best Terry Shiavo impression, Jack, again, was uncooperative (notice Ashley's "death grip" to keep him in frame).  My patience grew thin, and sensing this, Jack swooped in for the kill: He decided to gather the straw laying around and hurl it at me.  

We grabbed the closest, near-round object we could find, paid quickly and left quicker.  Wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued immediately.  Nap time followed shortly thereafter.  

It's Business Time.

People who are married will find this funny.  Single people will not. 

I cried the first time I saw it.

For Good Measure.

I never get tired of pictures of kids covered in food.  Give Jack ANYTHING with frosting, he'll manage to eat all the frosting and destroy the item upon which the frosting was placed, consuming as little of the non-frosting part as possible.  In this instance, it was the city's finest cupcake from Karsh's Bakery.  (Of course Ashley and I ate it, are you kidding?  It's a cupcake, not a half-eaten hotdog.)

Jack is a Medieval Cowboy Monk

Recipe: 

One (1) sheet of unused black velvet cloth from re-shoot of baby photos at fancy photographer's studio;

Two (2) lengths of rope cut from cat scratching post that has been scratched into oblivion;

One (1) Tequila sponsored cowboy hat received at golf tournament; and,

One (1) two year old with a penchant for the ridiculous.  

Cut hole in black velvet at midpoint, insert child's head.  Cut rope into lengths and fasten one around black velvet-clad adolescent.  Fasten cheap cowboy hat on child's head.  Issue second length of rope to act as "whip."  Giggle with glee as the historically confused child scampers about the house, taming imaginary steers chanting, "Howdy, pard-ner." 

It was a slow day at work.

Sam is Getting Bigger: An Update

Recently, I posted that Sam was 8 lbs and 1 oz.  I was wrong.  He weighed in at 8 lbs and 4 oz.  But, as I have also written about, Sam has been enduring an ongoing battle with his colon.  At that point, we was on day 6 of Operation Need To Poop, so there was quite a bit of backup that added some weight.  Shortly after the appointment, he released his payload.  I wont go into detail, but if you've seen video of dams being blown up and the reservoir spilling out, endangering the people that live below, that pretty much sums it up.  Just replace "dam" with "Sam" and "people who live below" with "Ashley."  

So, officially, he probably ended up at 8 lbs 1oz after the vacation of his bowels.  So I was technically correct.

"Wow, I need to go #2... bad"

Getting Into The Holiday Spirit

Ashley's mother, Laurie Sue, takes care of Jack one day a week.  This began when Ashley went back to work after Jack was born, and has continued despite the fact that Ashley is now home with both kids.  The day off helps Ashley keep things in order and gives her some time to run errands without dragging along The Two Foot Destruction Artist (a/k/a Jack) and Captain Grumpypants (a/k/a Sam).  More on Sam later.  

Laurie Sue was in education for many years, and has a PhD in child psychology.  (Both of my in-laws are PhD's in Psychology.  Yeah, chew on that for a while.  I've developed my share of psychoses arising simply from that fact.)  The great part about that is that she is diligent to involve Jack in activities that develop his maturing mind and allow his adolescent creativity to expand and develop.  

Around the holidays, she uses the opportunity to engage Jack in various art projects.  As Halloween approaches, Jack has painted his own mini-Jack-o-Lantern and made some "scary" signs to hang on the front door.

[Seeing this post, and looking at the picture of himself painting his pumpkin, Jack commented (somewhat embarrassed), "I still have my jammies on there!"]

Turning to Sam, he gets in the holiday spirit by being constipated (latest count: 5 days worth) and passing the worst gas any one can conceive.  I pity Ashley who has to endure it during feedings.  He's going to be a "Chemical Weapons Developer" for Halloween.

I christen thee Captain Grumpypants.  Why?  He cries... an incredible amount. (I believe that is related to the lack of "BMs.")  He's a pacifier baby, which we were excited about at first, but if that little $.02 piece of plastic falls out, he goes ballistic. Put him in his carseat - ballistic. Set him down for 2 seconds to type this blog post - he erupts.  

As hard as Jack's 2 hour feeding rotation was, the constant assault on the eardrums is equally as rough. A Sam scream reaches into the deepest levels of my psyche, grabs a hold and twists painfully. Yay stress!  

Samuel Is Getting Bigger

Ashley took Sam to the doctor today. He had a cardiologist appointment. His primary doctor heard something that she didn't like when she examined him and sent him to have it checked out. EKG and the works. Ultimately, it turns out its nothing to be alarmed about: kids have a hole in their heart when they are inside mom that closes shortly after birth. Premi's, being ahead of the scheduled due date, don't close up as fast, so he has a small hole in his atrium that will close soon, we're told. "Nothing to be alarmed about," they say. Phfew.

The bigger news is that Sam is now 8 lbs, 1 oz. Ashley took a picture at the doctors office so you can see his progress:

Transgender Insects.

After walking 18 holes on Saturday morning, I returned home to a full day's worth of yard work in preparation for overseeding our lawn with rye grass. (Thankfully, we pay to have that done, although I always believe I could probably do a better job given enough time, energy and seed) Ashley attended a baby shower, leaving Jack and I to fend for ourselves. Jack assisted, wielding a rake and helping me bag up piles of pine needles that collect under our gargantuan pine tree in the front yard. We also made a trip to the local hardware store to purchase a chainsaw and then proceeded to trim some of the 10,000 trees in our yard. We are manly men.

I was surprised and pleased at his willingness to help, and the extent of time the project held his attention. But, he is two and a half, after all, so his random thought generator did kick in after about 10 minutes.

As we were hauling tree limbs into the back alley for disposal, Jack saw something move in the dirt. Immediately, he zoomed in on it, scooped it up and proceeded to show me that he had caught a small beetle. (I'm not an entomologist so don't ask me what genus and species it was. All I recall is that I've seen this type before, they aren't harmful, and have a neat red, grey and black pattern on their backs.)

Proudly presenting the creepy-crawler to me, Jack proclaimed, "I found a bug! His name is Lisa!"

[UPDATE: It was a Milkweed Bug (Lygaeus kalmii).]