Welcome Home!

Dear Aunt Teresa,

I heard that you were in that place where there are no toys, few windows and no pantries to empty out each day. That must have been hard. I heard you got those pokey things put in your body, and that you still have a lot of questions about why your body does not feel very good right now. I heard that somehow you still are being funny and that you don't want a cat.

Beings that I'm 15 months old, I don't have much understanding of these grown-up things. But I do know that when I see you on Monday I would really like to get a big hug from you. I'd like to play with my cousins if that is alright with you. I know Caleb is bigger than me, so you may have to pick me up every now and again.

When I get old, I get the feeling from my mom that I will learn a lot from you. For now all I can offer you is some of my food (usually after I chew it) and a slobbery kiss on your shoulder. I hope this doesn't downplay how much you are loved by all in your life.

Your nephew

"Jaden ala Spaghetti"

Chrysler Take Note

Guess what the best selling car in the US happens to be? The Little Tikes Cozy Coupe sold 457,000 units in the US last year outselling the Toyota Camry, the Honda Accord and anything Chrysler is marketing these days. Our household has happily kept up with the Joneses on this one, albeit with a $20 vintage version from a local garage sale. I doubt Jaden can tell the difference. Let's hope for the same naivety when he turns sixteen.

Obsession

My parents lost me once. Not in a mall, or a park, or at a fair. They lost me in their backyard. I'm not scarred from this incident because I can't remember it. I was still in diapers, barely walking, and I somehow escaped. I doubt they were really worried. It was the late 70s, we were in a town of less than 2000 people (of which my dad knew 2500), and our neighborhood was fast becoming my own personal playground. Within a few years of this incident I was welcome to toddle in and out of various houses within a couple of blocks of our own home. My favorite stomping grounds became the homes of Mrs. Bossart, Calvin and Ola, and Mr. Badger. They were all older -- with kids and grandkids of their own. But I was their neighbor and cute, and I let them know it.

Naturally when my parents lost me, they started looking in these various neighbors' yards for an inevitably naked-to-the-diaper toddler. They eventually found me. I was in Mr. Badger's strawberry patch happily helping myself to the season's crop. I crossed a street to satiate my need for fresh strawberries. Soon after my parents started growing strawberries in their own garden and since I can remember I helped "pick" them. Two in the mouth, one in the bowl...that was pretty much par for the course. I remember eagerily awaiting the arrival of the first strawberry of the season which I doubt I even offered to any other of my family members.

Now I have my own strawberry patch. This year, as I checked and checked for the first ripe berry, I would bring Jaden with me. When we finally found it, I shared it with him. The obsession has been passed down a generation. He cannot get enough. He mashes them off the plant in his chubby baby hands and stuffs them in his face faster than I stop him. And really, do I want to?

Putting Our Clothes Back On

The human body is a miraculous thing. By "miraculous" I mean "beyond my comprehension." Kind of like the Intraweb and/or TV. Miracles are sacred. They should remain clothed and unquestioned.

Unfortunately when our son's miracle-laden body came down with a virus from the dark lord this past week, Dustin and I became much closer to cracking the code of the ins-and-outs (no pun intended) of the human gastro-intestinal system. I prefer things to be the other way. I like diapers, and onesies, and cute clothes...and blankets. I like all of these things to be clean, which would indicate nothing was wrong with my sweet baby boy. That's how I like my miracles wrapped up.

However life briefly took us a different direction, hence the pathetic picture above. The last week has entailed two visits to the ER, a one night stay in the hospital under contact precaution, two separate IV experiences, and a job that was definitely too big for even the hippo balloon.

Fortunately, Jaden's wonderous body has figured out a way to heal itself. Henceforth we reclaim the miracle that he is. Regardless, everyone gets an extra layer of underclothing before bed tonight.

More Balloons

About a week ago, a pair of scissors was brandished and a birthday balloon was removed from its perch above Jaden’s high chair. (Note: This balloon had survived for nearly 2 months…is there a new element on the periodic table that I am unaware of?) For days after, Jaden would look up towards the heavens visibly wondering where in the heck his balloon had gone. Never fear, the post has been filled again. This time soaring above each meal is a great.big.giant.purple.hippo. Where did the hippo materialize from? The Emergency Room…of course.

Jaden got sick a few days ago. I’ll spare you the details. They aren’t pretty, but will probably be forever stained into the cream (great fabric choice) rocking chair in Jaden’s bedroom. This is our first encounter with mouth-exiting sickness, so my train of thought was not necessarily rational. I think the following scale sums it up nicely:

One sick: Yuck.
Two sick: Damn, not just a one-off. Call sister.
Three sick: WTF???? Call mom.
Four sick: Worry sets in.
Five-Nine sick: At what point do we call the doctor? Call sister again.
Ten sick: Call doctor.
Eleven sick: Go to ER.

We spent three hours with some of the nicest people on the planet. Evidence: They kindly suggested I leave the room when Jaden’s IV was being put in so I could be the “nice guy” afterwards. They wheeled in a DVD player so Jaden could “watch” Milo and Otis during our time there. They let Dustin pick out a ginormous balloon on our way out which elicited the faintest of smiles from little Jaden.

Since this episode things have been far from normal for Jaden. He has been running a fever, sleeping on my lap, watching Elmo Pets on repeat cycle, not playing one little bit, barely walking, and just generally lethargic. It is pretty scary to see. But, and I’m not joking about this, when we are attempting to get the least bit of food into his gullet I can still get him to smile by asking, “Where’s your balloon?”. It has returned, in all of its hippo glory.

Boat Repair Weekend

Dustin's family has a Memorial Day tradition. It involves small engines, rocket-fuel, picnics, and paddle-boats.

Dustin's aunt and uncle live on an amazingly beautiful acreage with a lovely pond. There are romantic weeping willows surrounding the pond, beautiful flowers all around, and usually even a pony or two to complete the idyllic nature of this scene. This is where Dustin and I were married seven years ago. It really holds a special place in our hearts.

The first time I went to this place was on a Memorial Day weekend about ten years ago. What I experienced was nothing short of a rite of passage into his family. For about six hours I saw Dustin, his father, his uncle, and all other males present attempt to get model boats to shoot across the pond. In case you are wondering where the rocket fuel fits in -- I guess batteries are for losers in this competition. The object is to build the biggest, baddest boat, load it up with rocket fuel, launch it onto the beautiful pond, and embarrass one's competition. The men spend hours before this day each year putting together their boats. Some (I won't mention any names) even risk life and limb and end up in the ER the day before the races because of unfortunate run-ins with moving propellers. They spend more hours the day of the competition talking smack and tinkering some more with their boats. Sometimes the boats even make it onto the water for more than 5 seconds much to the utter joy of the audience attending the Boat Race Competition. When the boats die on the pond, the youngest/most naive apprentice is sent out in the paddle-boat to retrieve them.

While there is a plethora of boats, there are really no races at this event. Therefore this year the name was officially changed to "Boat Repair Weekend" to more accurately reflect the goings-on of the day(s). This year Jaden was a bit young to enter the competition of repairing a boat. But, on the drive home Dustin started talking about the boat he (and Jaden) will be getting/repairing for next year. I guess no matter what the name this is definitely a tradition worth keeping.