Just a quick note:

Sometimes, when life just keeps knocking you down, there is simply nothing better than singing your child to sleep.

The 'Change'

I just completed the switch from a nighttime employee to a "normal" first shifter. The 2 most common questions are -

1. How are you managing? Tired yet?
2. So... is the work harder?

Tired? Really? Having MS I'm *always* tired. So a simple schedule change was not exactly a burden. Thankfully, I'm now getting a regular 7 hours of sleep, and beyond that my meds help.

Is the work harder? No - different is all. I'll go on record and state that work is work... no matter what you do. If is wasn't, there would be more amusement rides and cotton candy. It is suprisingly quieter, though. There are probably noise issues involved there with the suits, that do not exist on third.

Another week down.... 1891 to go!

Naptime (Or the daily 5 Round MMA fight w/no refs)

As everyone knows having a 2 year old is the simplest and most calming job with no responsibilities in the world.

...

...

Wait... I've been drinking again, right? Hmmm, hopefully any other parents out there don't have to clean coffee, Mountain Dew, or liquor off of their keyboards.

I *must* be doing something wrong, right? I mean every other parent/grandparent/person with an opinion on the planet, loves to tell me how easy it was to raise their child, niece, nephew, or my little pony. After all... I must be doing something wrong.

Enter... naptime.

During the week we have a fairly nice, fairly regular schedule - right around 1 p.m. I get him ready, we grab his babies (or dogs, or CCG cards, or whatever else this weekly fancy is), and head to his bedroom. Then we begin "the ritual" (note: this used to be much longer, thankfully he's removed some things for us) -

• We touch all of the dinosaurs on the walls of the room. This is currently 8.
• We spell out the blocks that make up his name.
• We go through the quote that's up on the wall up above his bed.
• And if he's made it through this (and that's a big if!), he then rests in my arms and I sing to him.
• Hopefully by this point I can put him in his bed, tell him I love him, and maybe rub his back as he falls asleep.

But that's the 'normal' and as we are all aware, 2 year-olds are anything but normal.

Yesterday, we made it through the first couple of steps when we had a melt down... and not just a normal meltdown, the screaming "mama", "dada", "kitty" kind. So he ended up in the bed a few steps early, and that's always when the fun begins.

First, its the yelling - "Mammaaaaaaaaa" and he'll put his hand by his mouth as if he's amplifying his voice. This always starts softly and gets progressively louder.

Then comes the kicking. The bed... the wall... I often wonder if the neighbors are convinced I keep the cast of Stomp in my house.

Often times what follows is the launching of stuffed animals. I'm not sure if he's going for distance or accuracy, but they end up pretty much everywhere.

Now (obviously), comes the lamentations of the boy for the aforementioned stuffed animals. As an adult, my thought is "Duh, if you hadn't thrown them out, you wouldn't be sobbing over the 'missing' stuffed animals.

After these steps, out comes the boy. If the boy were a WWII vet he'd have already dug 'Tom', 'Dick', and 'Harry', but wisely we do not allow shovels at naptime. So instead, we have a free climber that can use any surface to reach his desired goal (in this case, the ground). Often times, he'll peer over the stair railing and with a "Hi Da" announce his arrival.

And then it begins anew, with increasing frustration on both sides - until you just wear him down.

Good thing there's only 16-however many years to go. I think I'm going to go hire myself a trainer.

It just saddens me, watching the current media and reflecting on personal things, that my son will never live in a world with privacy. Between Facebook, Twitter, and the multitude of blogs (ironic, right) through his own doings or those of others - he will never get the relative anonymity that I was able to enjoy growing up.

Who would have thought that Big Brother would exist, and that we (the world populace) would do it to ourselves?

The most powerful word

In the general scheme of things, it seems that children acquire words in a specific order.

1. Simple Vocalizations.
2. Repeated Babbling - "Mamamama" "Gagagaga".
3. Sophisticated babbling.
4. One Word.
5. Two-word phrases.

And from then on, whatever silence you receive is a gift from above.

But at some point, somewhere in the fine development of the human language - children learn the word "no". Oh, it takes several forms. But the end result... the parental pain, the headache... remains the same.

(Granted a case can be made for the other gem "mine"... but well... this is my blog- ha!)

Children know it has power, it's used to discipline or prevent behavior. But the "no" word always seems to get a response. They don't understand the meaning and that much is apparent. Yet, children wield the word with tactical strategy akin to throwing grenades at an ant. If one sprays the area with the word "no", eventually your going to hit the correct definition/response.

Ironic then, that a common problem as an adult is the inability to say "no".

Maybe they just used it all up?

30 Second Glimpse Into My Head

As I work third shift, exceptionally weird conversations arise that send one's brain down odd roads.

Case in point - two nights ago a co-worker was singing songs from the Wizard of Oz.

Now it's not a secret that I enjoy breaking down TV shows and movies and asking the hard questions, so here goes:

(Lollipop Guild)
We represent the Lollipop Guild
The Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild.
And in the name of the Lollipop Guild
We wish to welcome you to Munchkin Land

Now this seems so harmless - but really what is the Lollipop guild?

• Are they the Oz version of the Mafia? I have images of Munchkins threatening other Munchkins who don't pay them for protection, hitting them with their giant lollipops.
• What do they actually do for a living? Do they grow lollipops? Are lollipops raised? (Insert image of free range lollipops being chased my cowboy Munchkins riding giant hamsters)
• Are they related to Oompa-Loompas? Are the inhabitants of Oz using them as slave labor to tend their candies?

Finally, am I the only one that finds it astonishing that in a world with magic and such, that these people are afraid of OZ the "great and powerful." Seriously, it's an old man with a hot-air balloon and a projection screen - I can suspend my belief past the Munchkins, the Witches, the Scarecrow, the Lion, the Tin-Man, and Tik-Tok but Oz just takes it too far.

Birdwell Island

Having a 2-year old means you get exposed to television programming that adults (generally luckily) do not normally have to view.

Don't get me wrong, some of the shows are enjoyable enough in 20-30 min daily doses.

But, suspension of disbelief becomes a problem. Case in point? Clifford the Big Red Dog.

• The show's basic premise is that the love of Emily Elizabeth made Clifford grow large. Now, this in itself isn't really the problem. But what kind of image does this present to your child when the family pet doesn't grow to house wrecking proportions? And what about Clifford's friends on the island? T-Bone and Cleo aren't that large, does this mean that their owners do not love them?
• What do Emily Elizabeth's parents do to support this enormous dog? They obviously had enough money to just pick up and move from 'the city' to Birdwell Island, where they were able to purchase a house with a 'doghouse' (read as barn). I'm not sure what enterprise they are in, but I'm pretty certain I want in.
• Birdwell Island, itself, is an interesting piece of work. In one episode Clifford went digging for bones and just happened to find one large enough for him. Either the island is an archeolgists dream or the world they live in is populated with giant monstrosities.
• I understand the themes of acceptance (K.C the three legged dog & Mac the dog that we all wonder why *anyone* would hang around with), but perhaps the more impressive fact is that the entire community is accepting of a giant 15' red dog!
• Dog waste. Seriously. Why don't we ever see Emily Elizabeth with a bulldozer moving his giant size poo?

Still, I believe that Clifford could quite possibly be the greatest dog in the whole-wide world. You're a lucky girl Emily Elizabeth!

Language Barrier

My son is lots of things... budding artist, daredevil, climber, thrower, pouter, and cuddler. But he's definitely not a linguist.

It's not as I'm wishing for him to tell me "Good morning dear father, and how enjoyable was work last night?" I just wish there was more to our conversations than grunts, clicks, some whale song, and "Ma", "Da", "Itty" and maybe "Peas" or "Uice".

He's clever, he knows what your talking about, and he can put into or take out of the refrigerator a cold beverage.

It's just the frustration of us not knowing what he's always trying to say - it just grates on the nerves (ours and his).

Someday, I'll look back at this and think "God, please have him be quiet for just 15 min".

Performance Anxiety

After running off to visit the relatives today, my 2 year-old son and I end his day with the battle of wills.

I will lose. I always lose.

After the boy convinces me that he can't go to bed with out a glass of milk (this is communicated through vigorous hand gestures, babbling, and something that resembles the sound a cricket makes) I pour him a glass and then sit on the couch with him, to basically keep him out of trouble.

Luckily, mommy gets to step in and be the ogre. She tells me that the boy only gets 1/2 c of milk at bedtime... and that he was just going to 'milk' it.

Yes... not as funny as she thought it was.

I think fast. "Ummm. Ok, after Daddy goes to the bathroom it's bedtime." He nods, puts down his cup and proceeds to follow me into the bathroom.

Now, I'm getting ready to go and he's standing there at, well at 'that' level.

Staring.

This should not be a problem, but the intense stare is starting to make me uncomfortable. So I start to go, and he starts clapping. Clapping. I now believe that I am some sort of performance art for the two year old set.

Apparently satisfied with my performance, he grabs the toilet plunger and makes way to the toilet. Quickly I shush him over to the side, where he begins plunging the floor and starts clucking.

Oy. Another day down.