The End of an Era (?)

Well.. that might be a little extreme. Nothing's certain yet, but last night at dinner, Ben dropped a bombshell on us. He turned to me and said "Daddy, do you notice anything different about me?"

It was an unexpected question. I had to think about it for a second, before responding with my own question, "Do you mean... since this morning?"

When he answered, "Yes" I had to think about it a little while longer. I looked at him and tried to see if he had any new bruises (no), missing any more teeth (no), got another haircut (no), temporary tattoo (no), permanent tattoo (no), piercings (no), Nobel peace prize (no)...

I took a wild guess, "Umm.. you're wearing shorts?"

He looked down. He was indeed wearing shorts, but who knows, he might have been wearing them all day long. I certainly didn't know, and I doubt he did either. It's Penelope's job to be the observant one.

"No," he said, "I stopped picking my nose."

And now that he mentioned it, I did notice it. I'd been sitting there a good fifteen minutes and I didn't have to tell him to stop digging for gold... not even once! It all started about 16 months ago, around the time of this post. He's been practicing a lot between then and now, and he's quite proficient at it these days. On any given evening in recent memory, he could only go about five minutes between excursions.

I asked him, "Wait.. so after all this time you spent on this hobby, you're just going to call it quits and give up?"  No, actually, I didn't ask him that. I don't think that quickly on my feet. Instead, it was something more like, "Do you mean... for good? You just decided to stop, and now you're done?"

"Yep," he said.

Well, I must say that I'm overjoyed by this news. And, to his credit, It hasn't happened (while I'm looking) last night or tonight. We'll see what the future holds. There's a whole weekend coming up.

It's good to be back home

Quote from Ben:

"Daddy, you know what? When I toot, I toot one after the other. But when you toot, you wait like a minute, or sometimes an hour before you toot again."

I certainly missed his keen observations on the world.

Eggnog

Ben: Why do they call it 'eggnog'?

Daddy: Well... it has eggs in it...

Ben: Yeah, but what's with the 'nog' part?

Her Mother's Daughter

It looks like it's just going to be a Penelope week around here.

So I was sitting in the rocking chair, waiting for Penelope to get the book she wanted to read. She'd already picked out one that I haven't read yet - Petunia... something or other. I can't remember, but I'm not going into her room right now to figure it out. In any case, I was looking forward to it.

Penelope had other things in mind though. She started going through the books on her bookshelf looking at them. I said, "There it is, Petunia is right there on top."

"I know. I'm looking for something else. Here! Little Jimmy Little!"

Ugh. It's one of the Care Bears books from the 80's. I am not a fan. I tried to steer her back to the other book, "Oh sweetie no, not the Care Bears tonight! I was looking forward to the Petunia book! I haven't read that one yet."

And then she said something that is a distinct Mommy-ism, "You'll deal." Then she handed me the book and started climbing into the chair with me.

At first, I thought I must have heard her wrong, "What?"

As she settled into the chair on my lap she said, "It's ok, Dad. You'll live. Little Jimmy Little."

And then of course, I read the Little Jimmy Little book for what seems like the hundredth time. She was right. I dealt. I'm alive.

Penelope quotes from the week

#1 - At the dinner table

The family is eating dinner. Ben has ketchup on his face.

Daddy: "Ben, you have ketchup on your face."

Ben takes his napkin and wipes his face with it.

Daddy: "How did you manage to do that? You just wiped your entire face with that napkin, and the ketchup is still there."

Mommy: "He's a boy."

Penelope: "And I'm a girl. Girls can do anything."

#2 - In the laundry room

Penelope is helping Mommy move clothes from the washer to the dryer.

Mommy: "Oops! That one doesn't go in the dryer. Here, I'll put that one on the line."

Penelope: "You mean on Facebook."

#3 - When I grow up

Penelope: "Daddy, when I grow up can I be a teacher?"

Daddy: "Of course you can! So, you want to be a teacher... do you know what the first thing you need to do is?"

Penelope: "Yes. I need to turn 5."

A letter to Penelope

Dear Penelope,

Happy birthday! It is hard to believe you are four! I decided that I wanted to write down just a few of the things that I love about the four-year-old you. Honestly, it is hard to just pick a few. You're a very lovable little girl (but I'm a bit biased on the subject).

I love that you always have a song in your heart. I can't remember the last day that went by when I didn't hear you singing. You sing to us, you sing to your toys, you sing to yourself... you sing when you're happy, you sing when you're bored, you even sing when you're in the bathroom.  Sometimes it is a song that we all know, and often you are just making it up as you go.

I love that you think the world has a giant invisible Pause button that you can use when you need to. Out of the blue, you'll just shout "Pause!" and make a motion like you're pressing a giant button, run out of the room to do whatever you need to do, then run back in, and press the button again, shout "Unpause!", and pick right up where you left off.

I love that you love books. If you could get me to sit still long enough, you'd have me read every book in the house to you. And you desperately want to read by yourself. You'll spend half an hour paging through one of Ben's chapter books on your own, just looking at any pictures that are there. Or you'll get one of your own books and "read" the story out loud to yourself. I can't wait until you're reading on your own.

I love your sense of humor. It's like two parts "innocent kidspeak" mixed with three parts "goofy oddball", and delivered with  impeccable comedic timing. You know just the right moment to cross your eyes or make a goofy face, and on the rare occasions when you've decided that your bellybutton should join the conversation, it's seemed like a natural choice. You're in that 2-5 age zone, where half of what you say is just cute or funny anyway. An example... the other day you were being particularly goofy. Mother (that's what you call her sometimes, when you are acting all grown-up) said to you "Penelope, you're so stinkin' cute!" You put your hands on your hips, your angry face on, and said very indignantly, "No I'm not! I took a bath!"

Well all right, then. If you insist.

And of course, I love that you love me too. The big hug you give my shins when I get home is a highlight of many days. I realize that some of these things are true to who you'll be a year from now or two, five ten etc., while others belong to the realm of "kid things" that will fade with time. Which is which doesn't really matter, but I hope that at least the shin hugs persist for a while.

Love,

-Daddy (a.k.a. Father)

Tooth #2

Ben lost another tooth on Wednesday (the bottom right incisor, he informs me - he sidled up next to me and is now sitting with me while I type this). This time he was in gym class, wiggling it with his fingers when it popped out. I'll ignore the implications on how well he may have been participating in class on this day or for the past couple weeks. 

And, of course he wrote the Tooth Fairy a note. He's real big into notes. When he showed it to us it just looked like a blank sheet of paper! He'd written in yellow highlighter. We wondered how the Tooth Fairy was going to even be able to read his note, and Ben told us it would glow in the dark. Hmmm... not sure about that. Maybe the Tooth Fairy has more sensitive eyes than the rest of us. Perhaps she can see different wavelengths or something.

I was able to simulate how the Tooth Fairy might have seen his note using a black light:

We thought about this.. Wow.. what's the Tooth Fairy's name? It's just "Tooth Fairy", right? Or maybe its "Toothetina", if you're a Pinkalicious fan. We were surprised in the morning to find that the Tooth Fairy had signed Ben's note!

Not only did she sign it (as Ben is pointing out each time I type "she"), Ben's tooth fairy is a he! He's got a pretty cool name, too. Where do fairies get their names from anyway? Answering that question required a brief distraction. And now I am being asked what a distraction is, so I should stop writing while I am ahead.

Moon Over New Braunfels

We visited our friends down in New Braunfels today. They have a new wee one - about 8 weeks old. I always forget how tiny and cute they are!

Anyway.. not here to talk about adorable little babies. I was going to talk about swimming pool physics. You see, when there's a 6-year-old boy in a pool who wants to be tossed in the air, then you've got to toss him, at least once. And if that 6-year-old's swim trunks happen to be untied, then on the upswing the water will tug them downward. By the time said 6-year-old has left the water... well you can guess the rest.

I was on the sidelines to witness the whole thing. Jason provided the initial toss. It was a really funny sight - Ben flying through the air, butt bare to the world, with an expression of glee on his face. He was so excited! "My bum was out in the air! Do it again!" So of course we obliged.

Clean?

Penelope, handing over her sunglasses: "Here Mommy."

Mommy: "Why are these wet?"

Penelope: "Because I cleaned them."

Mommy: "You cleaned them?"

Penelope: "Yep. With my tongue!"

One Down, Nineteen to Go

Ben's has had a tooth wiggling for a couple weeks now, and it finally popped out tonight. I am told that he was eating a slice of pizza when all the fun happened. It involved some crunching sounds, followed by Mommy trying to get an oblivious and confused six year old to spit out his pizza, which he originally didn't want to do (what can I say? the boy likes pizza, and it is a strange request.) This was immediately followed by a frantic search-and-rescue operation. The tooth was successfully recovered (and dang it is small!)

Not surprisingly, Ben has informed us that this was his bottom, front, left incisor. I would not have known that... it's been a while. It's been such a while in fact, that until our niece started losing teeth a couple years ago, I sort of forgot that teeth even fall out.

I think I had blocked it from my memory. I remember it well now. It's just such a freaky, unsettling thing. Not at first - at first, it is exciting. It starts to wiggle a bit... then a bit more... eventually you can move it far enough to get your tongue in the hole underneath, and push it waaaay over. You push it around, pull on it with your fingers every couple minutes. That part is cool. It drives you crazy, but the anticipation of when it's finally going to pop out is awesome.

But it gets freaky and unsettling when the adult male role models in your life find out you have a loose tooth. They start suggesting all kinds of disturbing ways to help the process along. There's millions of variations in which a string is tied between the tooth and some other object such as a doorknob, the bumper of a car or a diving board, and then a sudden jerk does the trick. Eventually, they just walk around the house all day with a set of needle-nose pliers in their hand, looking at you every once in a while with a strange grin on their face. But now that I'm an adult male role model myself, I see it from the other side. Dad was just eager to see this grin:

So I'm oiling the pliers and doing some research. Here's a possibility for the next one: http://www.jokeroo.com/videos/funny/kid-shoots-out-loose-tooth.html

No Mystery Here

This post is sort of in response to some of the responses I've seen from yesterday's post. I wasn't originally going to write this down. But in the spirit of full disclosure...

It's hard to remember sometimes that Ben is only six. And other times... well, it can be really, really easy. We've already "recycled" the picture he drew this past weekend, so I won't be sharing it here visually. That's ok. It is burned into both his parents' brains, and we'll take this one for the team.

For a very long time, he has been into drawing things and labeling all the parts. What we found on the coffee table Sunday morning was another one of these drawings. It was beautiful in its simplicity, yet disturbingly accurate.

It consisted of two large ovals, with a dark line between them. Below the two ovals were a dark, egg-shaped blob and another light-colored blob with several segments. The dark blob and the segmented blob were each labeled "poop". The big ovals were each labeled "ceck" (cheek). And an arrow to the line down the middle labeled that area as "poop out". That's right... poop and butts. These are still two of the main topics for discussion in our household.

And in semi-related news (again, I wasn't going to write about this), Penelope loves baths. She was a little upset that Ben got to have a bath tonight and she didn't (she had hers this morning). She attempted to argue her way into one by saying, "But I NEED a bath! My brain is stinky!" Now I'm wondering if she saw Ben's picture too.

Junior Detective

A while ago (3 months, maybe?) Ben's reading interest drifted briefly through a series of books called "The Hardy Boys Secret Files". These are Hardy Boys books for much younger kids. The only reason his interest in these was brief is that there were only five or six of them at the time, and he read them all really quick.  He loved them, but alas, it is a series in progress.

At the time, I was perplexed. I noticed on the books that they were still being written by Franklin W. Dixon. I really enjoyed the Hardy Boys books when I was young, but I knew the first books in the original series were written in the late 1920's and 1930's. Yet here were some new books, published in 2010, with the same guy's name on them. Is this guy still alive? He'd have to be over 100 years old! Or maybe this is an F.W. Dixon Junior writing the new stories? Were they just using the guy's name still? I was curious. A quick online search revealed that Franklin W. Dixon was never a real person. Mystery solved.

Fast forward to now. We read a little to Ben every night before bed (and then he goes to bed and reads by flashlight for another hour - that's a different story in itself).  Anyway, we decided that we'd see if the original Hardy Boys books were something that he could get into, and the past two nights we've been reading #1 The Tower Treasure together.

Tonight we finished the second chapter. These first two have been a bit of build-up, introducing the characters and setting the stage for the rest of the book. The chapter ends with the boys thinking to themselves excitedly that this might be their very first case.

As I closed the book for the night, Ben said to me very matter-of-fact, "No.. this isn't their first case."  I showed him that yeah - this is the first book - there's a number 1 on the front and everything. I didn't understand, and I should have known better than to argue with him.

So he explained it to me, "But Dad, it said that Frank is 18 and Joe is 17. In my other Hardy Boys books, Frank is 9 and Joe is 8. And they solved other cases in those books."

His memory, and his ability to connect things together amazes me. We talked about it for a little bit, how these are fiction, and this book was the first one written, and the other books are newer. I think he gets it. Maybe tomorrow night he'll look at the copyright date, and tell me that the author can't possibly be writing these books still.

Valentine's Morn

Mommy: Ben, I will pick up your clothes and put them in the hamper for you, because it is Valentine's Day, and I love you.

Ben: That's why I left my clothes out!

Tales From the Potty, Parts 54 and 55

Warning: The following blog post is intended for immature audiences only. Reader discretion is advised.

You think, once you've got them out of diapers 24 hours a day, going to the bathroom by themselves, and taking care of it all on their own at 2 AM, that the potty training is all done. But it isn't. I had no idea that there were so many levels to this thing. I'm not talking about Penelope - we're not quite to that point with her yet. In fact, I still harbor the illusion that with her, that's all there is to it. No.. right now, I am talking about the boy.

First, it's the pants thing. Ben and I spent a lot of quality father-son time in public restrooms over the past week or so - restaurants, airports, various stores, a theme park - wherever we happened to be when he needed to empty his bladder.

Here's how it goes: we walk into the bathroom, Ben heads over to a urinal, he drops his pants and underwear all the way down to his ankles, and then he does his business. At the ripe old age of 5 going on 6, it obviously isn't a big deal that his butt cheeks are out there flapping in the wind. It even prompts a chuckle sometimes if there happens to be a line. But at some point, perhaps when he's taller than the urinal, it will no longer be cute. So - this is kind of an open question to other parents of boys (or maybe even just a question for other guys out there) - when do they (we) stop doing that? I can't remember doing it, though I am sure I must have. I've told him a few times that he doesn't need to drop 'em all the way to the floor, but he doesn't seem to care. Do I just have to wait for some modesty to kick in (right now, he has zero)? Or do I need to stage an intervention?

Secondly, well... he misses. Often. This, I have actually talked with other parents about, and it's a pretty common issue for little boys (one said "My kid is ten and he still can't aim to save his life.") Judging from the condition of the public and semi-public men's rooms out there, I'd say that a lot of grown-up boys need some more target practice as well. Not to say I haven't been guilty as well - I seem to vaguely recall some kind of floating target system in one of the bathrooms from my childhood. Apparently though, with Ben it is not an aiming problem. At least not according to him. He explained it all to me during our trip to the grandparents' house last week.

I was already in the bathroom, helping Penelope reach the faucet to wash her hands. Ben comes rushing in with an emergency situation and drops his pants to the floor (remember, zero modesty). So, he's over there peeing, and I hear the noise change from "hitting water" to "definitely not hitting water". I am thinking oh no.. he's peeing on the floor, and I look over. But he isn't - he's still hitting the inside of the bowl, if just barely. I say to him, "Ben, be careful. Make sure you don't pee outside the toilet."

As I finish my sentence, he finishes too. Still standing there half naked, he decides to tell me how it is. "Dad, It's ok, I didn't. There's only three times when that happens."

He holds up a finger, "One. Fast peeing. That's what I just did, but it all went into the toilet, so its ok."

He puts up a second finger, "Two. Double-peeing. That's when some goes like this, and some goes like that." He demonstrates this second option by pointing in two different directions with his other hand.

Then he holds up a third finger, "Three. Wobbly penis. Which is what happens when I let go." This too, he demonstrates by doing a couple iterations of a Chubby Checker dance move.

As he was pulling his pants back up, I told him with the straightest face I could muster at the time that we can keep the third one from being an issue by not letting go, and we'd work on the other two. He has obviously been giving it some thought. A couple days later he came out of the bathroom, and without any introduction to the subject he said to me, "Dad, there's a fourth one. Triple peeing."