A Boy and His Box

A boy and his box

When I showed this picture to Owen, he said, "Cutie boy!" He's so right. He's been playing in a box we received from Amazon.com, pretending it's water. Every little while he gets out of the box to "get dry."

We had a very quiet New Year's Eve. We played The Letter Factory with Owen, and then the boys went to bed around 730PM with very little argument. Keith and I had take-out sushi for dinner. Then we sorted our file cabinet, stowed away the receipts and paid bills from 2004, and implemented a new filing system for 2005. Sounds like fun, eh? Personally, I get really excited about labels and file folders and stationary and pens and white-out and all that nerdy office kind of stuff, so I was excited to get everything in order and taken care of. If it counts for anything, we watched the Times Square celebration on TV, and I stayed up until midnight Eastern time. It probably doesn't count. But I'm a mom now, I don't have to be cool.

This morning it was so nice outside. It's been around 60 degrees and sunny the last two days, so we went out onto the deck and I cut Keith's and Owen's hair. Keith was an easy customer. Owen was not so easy. He kept standing up, jerking around, whining, driving me crazy in general. I was basically finished when I heard him retch. I've heard this sound before, you see. It happens whenever he gets "grass" in his mouth, or hair, in adult-speak. I told him to stick out his tongue, and sure enough it was covered with little cut hairs. I think he must have wiped it in there with his hand. He gagged and retched while I tried to wipe it out. Keith went inside to get him a cup of water. Before he returned, Owen threw up all over the deck. Hash browns, whole and intact. Keith swabbed the deck while I gave Owen a bath. Poor little boy, all I wanted to do was cut his hair. Thankfully, Ari slept through the entire thing.

We did a trial two-day test with Ari and gave him formula only, while I pumped and stored breastmilk, and he did not throw up any of the formula. Keith gave him a breastmilk bottle yesterday for the first time in two days, and he threw it right up. I have no idea what's going on. I guess I'll call his doctor on Monday. In the meanwhile, we've started giving him a couple of tablespoons of oatmeal each evening, which seems to be heavy enough to stay down just fine. He is in love with the oatmeal, and bangs his highchair and smiles and coos at me while I feed him. He grabs the spoon and shoves it in his mouth. It won't be long before I'll need to start making baby food again. I made all of Owen's, from fresh or frozen fruits and vegetables, but it wasn't easy. Hopefully by around six months he'll be ready to eat a good regimen of solids.

Today we were playing in Owen's room, and Ari was holding a pair of pliers (a little plastic pair, not real ones) and was waving them around and yelling and having a good time, when all of a sudden he just started screaming. I think he bit on them funny and hurt his gums, as I couldn't find any red spots or bumps on him anywhere else. I scooped him up and was trying to comfort him, and when I held him up, I saw them: his first real tears! He was crying big fat watery tears down his cheeks. It was so sad. I've never seen him with tears before. Now the mommy-manipulating can really begin!

I did not know about myself that I am a nick-namer. Apparently I am. Both of my children go by various monikers, the least of which are, or are related to, Owen and Ari. Owen most often goes by Monk, which started when he was very tiny as Monkey, and has hung around for two years. Ari is called AK by Owen, and by myself, and sometimes he is called Gorge. Lately I've called him Cheeks McGee, because his cheeks have bubbled out into these rubbery, squishy, kissy balloons that seem to weight down his face. Yesterday Owen told me, in no uncertain terms, that he was Cheeks McGee, and Ari was Buns McGee, and that was that. Why Ari is Buns McGee, I'm not sure, but that fits too. So maybe Owen is a nick-namer like his old Ma.

Keith starts back to school soon. I'm going to miss my Mister Mom/live-in maid/personal chef. He's working all of this upcoming week, but mornings this time, so we'll be like a real live family and see each other every evening. Life, how the rest of the world lives it.