Seize the Day

Last weekend, Eric and I took a trip without Oliver. Grandma came into town to watch the boy while Eric and I took some time to ourselves for a trip up to Milwaukee. And boy did we make the most of it. It was a great trip and we packed in tons of fun.

We hit the road around 9:15 and arrived by 10:45. Amazingly there was no traffic. And I had no idea Milwaukee was so close. Such an easy drive. Plus, the weather was gorgeous, so it made for really pleasant travel.

Right away, we headed for the Jan Livens exhibit at the Milwaukee Museum of Art. Wow that's one impressive building. Seriously world class. The special exhibit was very impressive, too. We were frequently reminded of our time spent in Amsterdam. Back pre-baby, when we could swing International travel without thinking twice. After touring the exhibit, we sat down with a cup of coffee from the cafe and watched these really good classical guitar players. It was a perfect break and the view was great -- overlooking the lake and lakefront path out of these huge windows. I'm telling you, this museum is really worth seeing. We'll definitely be back.

After the museum, we consulted the trusted iPhone for not-to-be-trusted directions to the Milwaukee Public Market, We love a market and this one had all the pickin's: cheese, beer, wine, spices, middle eastern food, bakeries, grills, butchers, sweet shops, delis. We consumed a gourmet sandwich, traditional hummus, and of course some Wisconsin-brewed beers, and took our cheese and cookies to go. Yum! (Peanut Butter Buddy = homemade peanut butter cookie, topped with smooshed peanut butter cup and dipped in dark chocolate. OMG!)

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After the Market, we rushed over to Lakefront Brewery to grab the last tour of the day, but unfortunately it was sold out. This left us drinking $4, not-as-delicious-as-I-remember-it, Cream City pale ale out of undersized plastic cups in an oversized room with cafeteria-like tables. A little disappointing, but we could almost imagine what fun the beer garden along the river might be like in the summertime.

Then we made the tough call of whether to commit to staying overnight or to drive home. Honestly, it had been a full day already, but we decided to stick it out -- I mean how often do we get "us" time anyway -- and I'm so glad we did.

We checked into the lovely (sarcastic) and reasonably priced (not sarcastic) Hampton Inn & Suites downtown just long enough to sit down for a few minutes and consult the trusted iPhone again. Flixter, the iPhone movie app, found us a theatre close by with a movie starting in 30 minutes. Gotta love technology, right?

So we headed over to the East End (I think that's what the bartender called it -- or maybe East Side -- whatever) to see Gomorrah, an Italian mafia movie. It was pretty good. Not great, as the reviews would have you believe.

Then we bellied up to the bar in the dark corner pub called Von Trier, where the bartender served us pretzels, a Bell's Winter White and directed us to one of two spots for dinner, which was a good thing because half a sandwich and a couple dips of hummus really weren't holding me.

We opted for pub food for dinner. When in Wisconsin... ya know? Hooligan's Super Bar had a great selection of beer. We opted for the Alpha King (odd choice since we were in Wisconsin and it's brewed in Indiana, but we had the gal pull us a sample of the Cream City from her tap and found it to not be any better). In addition to beer and food, they had satellite trivia, which we played a few round of, Eric renaming himself to "Wayne" for the occasion. Whatever.

While still embarrassingly early for a Saturday night, after Hooligan's we were pretty spent so called it a night. The next morning we grabbed the tail-end of the complimentary breakfast and headed home. We were home by noon unpacking our cheese haul and playing with The Monk.

It was a very fun trip and I'm so glad we were able to go. Many thanks to Grandma for watching Oliver -- who she said was a perfect angel while we were gone. Doubtful, but I'm glad she sees it that way.

Daddies Are Awesome

Eric is a great dad! He really does more than his share with Oliver -- including dirty diapers, daycare drop-off, baths, and the famous changing-table tango -- and all with much less frustration than Mommy. I'm not sure the long-term effects, but when Oliver does something particularly ornery, Eric just laughs it off, where I tend to get a bit tense about it.

And Oliver LOVES his daddy. With each of us side-by-side at the crib's edge, Oliver will invariably stand up with arms outstretched to Daddy. Like every single time. And you should see the boy's face light up with his daddy walks in the door after work. He's even more excited to see Eric than the unfed cats are.

But it's no wonder, really. Eric goes all lengths to make Oliver smile (and what a smile it is!). There are tons more gushing words I could say about Eric as a father, but I'll save them for some sappy Father's Day blog entry or something. For now, I just wanted to express my gratitude and share my amusement, as I'm sure Oliver was equally amused when Eric donned these get-ups to get a grin out of The Monk. Nice.

Oliver the Voyeur

Oliver cracks me up. He's much like his daddy in the way he likes to just observe stuff. He's always surveying a situation. Site-seeing. Just generally taking it all in -- often skeptically. This is especially obvious when he gets around other kids who are playing. Whether it's at the park or at the Garfield Conservatory (as in photo above), he is typically more entertained by watching the other kids run and jump and play than he is engaging in those activities himself. In the case of the photo, he was watching kids run up and down stairs -- oooo.... fascinating. Nevermind the cool tree and books that were there for his enjoyment in the kids area of the conservatory.

But seriously, if he's having fun, then I'm having fun. There will be plenty of time for him to get in the thick of things, I'm sure. He's actually taken quite a liking to a slide in a park. I'm personally not a huge fan because his shoes get stuck and cause his feet to get caught underneath him, resulting in anything but a slide. If I wasn't holding him, he'd surely go head over heels and break his neck. Seriously. Here's a few shots of him at the playground last week. Eventually we're hoping not to have to wear hats and fleece jackets. I know it looks like the sun was shining, but it was still pretty chilly. Ridiculous.

Memory Lane: Applesauce Plus

According to my iPhone, I took this memorable photo of Oliver on August 29, 2009 -- pre-blog.

Man, I loved those striped jammies. Also love how he made me crack up with applesauce all over his face and the bonus snot bubble. Even held and smiled for the camera despite it all. Can't say that too much has changed, really. He still makes a mess with applesauce -- although more now because I'm letting him learn how to use the spoon (not my choice, exactly, but abiding my the age-appropriate parenting advice notes). And he still has a perpetually runny nose thanks to daycare. More often than snot, though, it just runs down under his nose in an entirely uninspired fashion. Enjoy!

Word of the Day: Bay-buh

Oliver's vocabulary is expanding -- and ever changing. I started this post a couple weeks ago when his most-identifiable word was "Bay-Buh," meaning bagel, which he wanted for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But, alas, time has passed since then and he's not nearly as obsessed. The bay-buh is definitely still one of the favorite food groups, though, and we make sure to always have some on hand.

He doesn't vocalize the Cinnamon Raisin part, but that is undoubtedly his preferred flavor. He didn't go for the blueberry I bought last week in a pinch. He does know, though, that they are kept on top of the fridge and points and grunts in that direction often. I know he shouldn't have them for every meal, but I usually give in if he's already eaten some semblance of protein or fruits/veggies. For awhile there, I thought he might turn into a bagel.

I still feel like he's on the verge of adding a bunch of new words to his vocabulary, but for now, there is still a lot of babbling and mamama and dadada with multiple and varied meanings therein. I'd blog about more of them, but some are just too difficult to map out phonetically, especially his other favorite food: CHEESE! (In this case, he is the product of his parents genetic make-up and predisposed to a love of cheese. Although, I suppose nurture plays a role, too, since we always have cheese around.)

Oliver's word for cheese is kind of a chhhh sound, but made by holding the teeth in clenched position and loosly pushing air through on either side of the tongue. It's a very difficult thing to depict phonetically -- kind of like letting the air out of a tire-sound, but just kind of -- and I have yet to be on-the-ball with the video camera. I have yet to give up either. I probably just need to set him up. Me with the camera. Daddy slowly opening the fridge to show Oliver the inside of the door where we keep the good stuff -- Processed American Cheese slices -- YUM!

Nature vs. Nurture: Baseball

It’s a pretty common question I ask myself. How much of Oliver is just Oliver plain-and-simple – a 15-month-old little boy – and how much is he a product of his environment? That age-old question of nature vs. nurture.

On Saturday, on our second of three trips to Target of the weekend (pathetic, I know), I thought his behavior spoke loudly and affirmatively “Nature. I am who I am, regardless of experience.”

I had my back turned, deliberating the all-consuming question of what kind of outdoor trash receptacle we should buy, and when I turned back around, he was reaching for a wiffle ball and bat with all the grunting and whining of a little boy wanting a piece of sports equipment. So, of course, Daddy gave it to him.

At this point, I tried to deconstruct where he was getting this desire for the ball and bat. I mean, Eric and I could not be less interested in sports (with the exception of the tangentially related beer drinking). Then I was thinking that he might have seen our neighbor coaching his daughter in tee-ball earlier in the day (talk about forcing the nuture-factor), but it was also unlikely since they were down in the yard and we were busy up on our deck above. Or maybe he caught a glimpse of the Cubs on TV somewhere, also extremely unlikely since we don’t watch much TV and almost never sports. But ultimately, I concluded that he’s a boy and a love of sports must be innate.

I was excited to get the new toy home, to open it and let him play with ball and bat separately. I was especially curious to see him play since he hadn’t been overly interested in the balls I bought him from the going-out-of-business sale at Right Start earlier in the week (Tip: 30% off over-priced is simply regular-priced, not a steal by any stretch of the imagination. I’m such a sucker for a sale.)

However, in the interest of passing time and staying out of the house (where he otherrwise seems to get into more trouble than anywhere else), we hung out at Target a bit longer and let The Monk hold on to his prize.

Instead of swinging it around with a hey-batter-batter-hey or begging to have the package opened, as one might expect regarding a new toy, he insisted on pushing it around the store, holding it out in front of himself with the ball end down, and pushing it down the aisle, under the counters, into corners – using the plastic-packaged ball much like a janitor scraping gum off the floor. And really, really enjoying it all the while (as evidenced by this action shot below).

Against my better judgment, I tried to show him how to swing it, but again, he wasn’t interested in that use at all. He just kept pushing that thing around like a vacuum cleaner (also, unlikely as a learned behavior since I never vacuum myself). And he wouldn’t let me have it back. And he wouldn’t get back in the cart. And he wouldn’t follow us toward the check out. He just kept pushing in all directions and groaning (his focus mantra) and babbling (his joyful mantra). So needless to say, it was a long exit out of Target on that particular trip.

In any case, he has had as much joy from the thing at home as at the store and has not shown an ounce of interest in removing the packaging from around the ball. It’s really quite fun to watch. Next innovation will be somehow attaching a mop to the end of that thing so he can clean his own smooshed bananas from the floor.

Here Is Pointer

How are you today, sir? Very well, I thank you. Run away, run away.

Oliver makes an initial impression of being a kind of cautious, precision-loving kid. You wouldn't expect this level of focus from a 14-month-old, but if there is something to be explored, the exploration is frequently intitiated with Mr. Pointer. His focus, often accompanied by a low groan or grunts, allows him to smash peas with a single press, skewer carrots into new orange fingertip, and start an art project with the exactness of a master painter.

Eventually, though, the focus, precision, and Mr. Pointer himself are replaced by flat-palmed rigor. Peas flying. Carrots smashing. Paint a la Jackson Pollock.

The photos above I took tonight as he disected his dinner. I should have taken a picture of the floor under his chair to show the aftermath of focus lost. Gross. (Grosser is that he tried to eat it off the floor later in the evening before I had a chance to clean it up. Ew.)

The photos below are from an art project in school. They called it "body painting." Just stripped the kids down, taped paper on the floor, and dumped out some tempera paint. He started out quite timidly, but had his fair share of paint on the bod by the time he was done. Can't quite figure out why the teachers would want to go through all the trouble, but I'm sure glad they did because it looks like good fun. Believe it or not he didn't come home with a drop of paint on him.

The unfortunate thing about this particular art project is that it was oversized and thus defies my plan to digitize all of Oliver's works of fine art with my scanner. I guess I'll have to really wimp out and take a photo of the work. It was pretty funny: Just days after I had posted my art-saving dilemma and plan, I read this amusing column on The Daily Babble. What's a mom to do?

Face Forward

I guess it's been a week or so since we've been officially face forward in the carseat in both of our cars, but this is a shot I took with my phone on the day we flipped him around in my car. He seems very pleased, doesn't he?

It is kind of a fresh perspective, I think, and makes it a little easier to see and interact with him from the front, which we better get used to because they say that even when kids are out of their carseats and boosters, they are supposed to ride in the backseat until age 13. (Whatever?!)

I wish the iPhone took better photos so I could zoom in to show you Mr. Toothy Grin. He's really getting some whoppers. And it's really no matter how far apart they may be coming in, the doc says we should start brushing. I did buy the brush, but he really isn't too interested yet. I suppose I should really work on it, though. OK, I'll start Monday (hopefully with more enthusiasm and staying power than my typical Monday-morning diet kick-off).

I'll try to get a better shot of his choppers this weekend when we're in Fort Wayne visiting Grandma. I sure hope he enjoys his 3.5 hours of face-forward fun on the road there and back. I know I won't will.

Word of the Day: Mama

When Oliver had his one-year appointment with the doctor, she asked how many words he was saying besides Mommy and Daddy. I was a bit stunned by the question, actually. It seemed a loaded to me -- I mean, was he even saying Mommy and Daddy?

Eric assured me that he had heard Mama and Dada, so that counts. What he didn't elaborate on is that Dadadada is simply the sound Oliver makes when he's enjoying himself while walking (he gets very proud of himself) and Mamamama seems to mean any number of the following:

• Mama: More (generically)
• Mama: More (of something I just had, often shortened to the familiar "Ma")
• Mama: More (of something I have yet to receive and you must guess)
• Mama: Milk (generally with an uprising questioning tone to the end)
• Mama: Gimme (of something he sees and wants and is pointing to)

You can see where this is going.

As far as I can tell, Mama never means ME!

I'm cool with that, though. Really, I am. My mommy friends say that once they know that's your name, they never tire of using it at all hours undesirable and in all tones unappreciative. So I can wait.

I can't wait, however, til he really starts talking. Not so much for the developmental status nor for the convenience of enhanced communication, but simply because I'm sure it'll be cute and entertaining. And cute and entertaining helps to balance out kicking and screaming (see Guantanamo Bay in Chicago). The kid has become an absolute monkey on the changing table -- an angry monkey (kind of like that one in Chris's closet on the Family Guy).

Actually, now that I've started listening closer, I do think he's got a couple words in his repertoire, but really barely two, and I'll save those for another post. Given the way he babbles, though, I know he's definitely got something to say. Just hope it comes out soon. I'll need the blog fodder for sure.

First Haircut

On Saturday, Oliver had his first haircut. And I have to wonder why we didn't do it a long time ago, as his bangs have been poking his eyeballs for months now.

We were in the car on the way to Garfield Conservatory and thought we'd give the haircut a shot since Oliver had been having a good morning with a great nap and was in a good mood.

At first, we thought we'd head down to Snippet's on Clybourn ("a specialized children's hair salon") to get the full treatment and certificate, but then decided it was just too much trouble because there might be a wait and traffic down that way is no fun. Plus, who needs to go to a place that offers a "Missy Manicure" service. So I called my friend Emily -- of Emily and "Theo of the Good-Looking Hair" -- to see where they go on the northside.

Turns out they go to "Julie" of salon-name-unknown and web-site-non-existent, which is no problem in my book because it just means no wait and no over-inflated prices. And like I said, Theo's hair always looks good (except that one time when his daddy cut his bangs and the other time when he went to bed with his hair wet).

So we headed over to Julie's place, which we learned is also known as JRH Kids Cuts.

Immediately we were put at ease by the presence of the car haircut chairs, a must-have for any first haircut. Phew. And Julie was very nice asking us if we wanted him to sit on our laps or in the car chair and if he would tolerate the apron around his neck. Turns out he was fine in the car and with the apron and with the snip-snip-snipping, thank goodness. Although, Julie was quick to remind us that every time is different and he might have a full-fledged fit next time, but so far so good. Although there were no tears, at one point Mr. Pouty Lip did come out.

The whole ordeal took all of 3 minutes and 6 snips to be honest. Not really worth all the pomp and circumstance -- although I did manage to take a fair share of photos, including him enjoying some playtime afterward in Julie's play area.

My own hairdresser tried to give me a tutorial the other day on how to cut Oliver's hair while he's sleeping, but I wasn't ready for that. Maybe at some point in the future now that I've seen how basic and less-than-precise the "professional" cut is, but I kinda doubt it.

Julie didn't send us home with an official certificate, but she did throw his hair into a small manilla envelope and gave Eric a ballpoint pen to label and date it.

I subsequently brought it home and put it into the awesome silver personalized keepsake holder that our friends Jeff and Richelle got us -- one for his first curl and one for his first tooth. I tried to take some pictures of it with the lid on so you could see how cool it is, but it's so shiny and kept just getting a reflection of me and my camera. So here's a quick shot of it and its contents:

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