This Blog Isn't Just About Kids, People.

I realize, looking back over the last few posts, that not much has been said about my two little boys, the title sponsors of this rodeo.  If you come here to read nothing but cute stories about young children, you've come to the wrong place.  This is pretty much my pet project/ventilation system/stream of consciousness, so you'll just have to deal with it, and get your kiddie info as it comes.  For "inquiring minds," I offer the following:

Sam:  Tonight, while I ate my face-charring-spicy-bowl, Sam played contently with the paper bag that it arrived in.  (He was unharmed while I consumed molten lava.)  He seemed to really dig the paper bag, so we'll revisit that toy sometime soon.  I now recall that Jack at this age always loved "non-toy toys" and, if you recall, his first taped session of ongoing belly laughter was created with the assistance of an Old Navy shopping bag.  [Editors Note:  Despite this, my requests to return to Target ALL of the stuff we gained in baby showers and use that money to buy an Xbox 360 continue to go unheard.  Alas...]  He is still suffering from on and off constipation issues, but I've saved you from "Poop-watch 2009" because my posts would have been a stream of complaints about his fussiness, and you've all heard that before.  He's such a cute baby (yes, a picture would be nice) and, when he's not eating/crying/sleeping/fussing, he's a joy to be around and lights up the room with his smile.  To quantify it, he's awesome 2/5ths of the time.  Another 2/5ths of the time, I let him live.  The remaining 1/5th, he's sleeping.  

Jack:  Still not potty-trained.  Underwear is just another fun "dress up" item.  I'm sure he thinks, "Hey look, Lightning McQueen occupies space on my rear!"  To add to the complications of life, he's now slowly dropping his nap, which means that some days, he naps (and can still rock a 2 + hour nap, yielding a bedtime around 9:30 or 10:00 p.m.) and sometimes he doesn't (yielding a battle royal and, mostly, a 7:30 to 8:00 p.m. bedtime).  He's a stellar baseball player, though, and I assure you that he'll win a batting title when he's old enough for tee ball.  He's got two tee-ball tees, and one that even shoots balls out at him which he then smacks back at me.  His fielding is still rough, but we're working on it.  Also, he's starting to get the hang of chipping golf balls in the back yard (much to my delight) but likes to steal my golf balls and then hit them toward me or the house/windows (much to my chagrin).  Don't tell him, but pretty soon, he'll get a bike with training wheels.  That should be fun, since I love to bike, too, and hope to get him into an active lifestyle (since, you know, I am the poster boy for active lifestyle).  

Jack and I are all alone this weekend, as Ashley and Sam leave for a Beth Moore (I just threw up a little in my mouth) conference with her good friend Jamie from college.  We've got some things on the calendar, but it's going to be interesting.  Thankfully, when Ashley leaves, Jack knows that he has very little rope and I have no patience for destructive frivolity, so he's generally very well behaved.  So I've got that going for me this weekend.

Did you miss us?

My sincere apologies for the dearth of posts.  As you can tell, I've had no success convincing Ashley to write anything here.  "You're funny, I'm not," she rationalizes.  "You were the valedictorian of your high school class, had straight A's in college, explain genetics to the common man, and mothered two beautiful children.  Now you spend 99% of your waking life with them.  Who do you think has more material than you?" I reply.  She shrugs and walks away, effectively ending the argument.  Such is my life.  If she didn't have such a great rear, I'd keep arguing; I don't. 

Otherwise, life has been pretty hectic between work, managing an over-active social life (think birthday parties for 2 year olds and church events, not Barcelona and Axis/Radius until 3am), and trying to dissuade Sam from crying 96% of his time awake.

Technically, I don't think they qualify him as "colicky" but dang this kid is fussy.  I do not remember Jack as incredibly fussy at this age, he only cried to eat every two hours, which Ashley addressed by feeding him which, we found, quieted his complaints, but it also furthered his unbearable 2-hour feeding schedule.  This go-round, we're smarter (or just simply more masochistic) in that we don't kowtow to Sam's every hunger pang.  The net result is that if Sam wakes prematurely by, say, Jack whelping like a 12 year old girl at a Hanna Montana concert, he just cries for an hour or so until the alloted feeding time.  Despite numerous lessons, Jack doesn't quite understand the concept of an "inside voice."  So Jack frequently wakes up Sam, who then cries.  

"Enough griping, TJ" you say?  "Tell us about fun stuff!"  

Fine.

Since October 21st, my last post, Halloween happened.  It was enjoyable.  Jack dressed up like a penguin.  "Why?" you astutely ask.  Because his costume was a freebie from a fancy birthday party that he attended earlier this year, that's why.  We're in a recession, don't you know?  I have to fund important things like golf tournaments, cufflinks and bottles of Scotch.  We cannot be discarding hard-earned money hither and yon with such unnecessary items as prefabricated costumes.  Had it not been for the penguin costume, Jack would have been a "robot," consisting of one (1) roll of duct tape and one (1) box of tinfoil, liberally wrapped around his torso, legs and arms.  I would have suggested we modify an old pot lid for a hat.  

...

[Sorry for the delay, I was away writing myself a note for next October, titled "Incredibly Affordable Robot Costume."]

Sam was very cute in his little dinosaur outfit.  It was a nice, warm flannel outfit to protect him against the inevitable cold that greets trick-or-treaters on October 31st in Phoenix, Arizona.  Generally, October ushers in the cooler days and nights.  Instead, the weather delivered it's own Halloween "trick" by giving us mid-90's temperatures.  Thanks Mother Earth.  I drove my car 200 extra miles this month just to get back at you.  I hear you don't like carbon monoxide all that much.  Suck on that.

In the week before Halloween, my maternal grandfather, Everett, died.  He had been on the decline for a while, so it was not a huge shock.  My maternal grandmother had died when I was in college, so he had been single for a while.  He met a nice lady who lived in the same assisted living facility that he did and they came to numerous family events as a "couple."  I could go on for pages about that (she became somewhat senile later on, and would ask the same question three and four times during dinner, which led to some interesting conversations.)  She passed on about a year or so ago, leaving Grandpa alone again.  We figured that was the final straw and it turned out it was.  

He slowly gave in and the Lord finally took him the week before Halloween.  Sam had not met him, but Jack spent some good time with him, which was special to him and Jack.  Before I told Jack what had happened, I never realized how hard it was to deliver that type of news to your kids.  He's almost three, but he really didn't understand it.  "Where did he go?" he asked me.  It took about ten minutes of explanation before it sank in.  Strangely enough, Jack took it in stride and even though visits to Great Grandpa were a part of Jack's weekly visits to his Grandma Ryan, he seems to be okay with it. With kids, there's always a number of "firsts."  This was the first time I had to deliver really sad news to Jack and to help him work through it.

Sam, on the other hand, responded by staring excitedly at the bubbles in his bouncer seat, flapping his arms and legs back and forth, and cooing.  Yes, lights no longer hold his attention, so now he's figuring out how the bubbles work.  He's smiling quite a bit, and has worked out (we hope) his constipation issues.  He sleeps much better stretches than Jack ever did, so in the overall give and take, I'd say he and Jack are in a dead heat for hardest kid to manage through the "newborn" stage.  But if Jack survived, Sam should too.  

On lighter notes, Jack, the unintentional comedian that he is, made a funny comment the other day.  While driving to one of our now innumerable family events, Ashley and Jack were having a conversation in which Jack was asking questions we considered "silly" prompting Ashley to call him a "silly goose."  He responded that he "was not" a silly goose, and Ashley said, "No, you're Jack in the Beanstalk."  Jack replied,

"No, momma.  I'm Jack in the Carseat."

Dinosaur Sam

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.