Daxohol

Day 730

My Darling Little Bug (I actually call you this),

Today was your 2nd birthday.  In all the history, in all the world, not even the best poets, playwrights and bloggers can put into words how deeply we love you and how proud your “Dod” and I are of you.

You are an incredible person.  You have an extraordinary sense of humour and imagination.  You are so compassionate and loving it brings tears to my eyes.  Except when you smack us.  That’s when I really have a hard time knowing what the hell you are thinking.  You’ve got a temper.  You always have, ever since day one.  This whole bitch-slapping thing is a reflex of your frustration and you obviously need to learn how to handle that level frustration without hauling off and cheek spanking us.  See, I have to type this out because I am really just trying to convince myself that you will grow out of this phase and your not going to grow up to become Slappy O’penpalm. 

Yesterday we celebrated your birthday by inviting a lot of people to the house.  What can I say, I love a party and so do you!  Even though you were running on sugar fumes and no nap, you were still a social butterfly, or half tuning everyone out while you played with your new toys.  If there is one thing you do not lack, it is toys.  Here’s the great thing.  Your toys are all relatively sane.  Meaning, you have only a very small amount of annoying toys, and in all of our toy history there has only ever been one toy that managed to penetrate The Great Wall of Maternal Tolerance.

You successfully blew out each and every candle on your cake with very gentle, deliberate and well thought out puffs.  Your cake was sweet in more ways than one.  We got your cake at the same bakery as we did last year.  We snagged a picture of Pocoyo from the scrapbook your Gramma and I made for you so that you could have a Pocoyo cake.  The look on your face when you saw Pocoyo on your cake was priceless.  I have copied and pasted this warm and wonderful memory file into the “ammunition” folder.  At some point in your life, you will get mad at me and say something really hurtful to me and accuse me of not being cool. Then I’ll remind you that on your second birthday, I was the person bringing you your Pocoyo cake and there could never be anyone that cool in the universe.  Hopefully, the word “cool” will still be used…I think I already sound totally square.

But really, you are the shizznit.  You’re smart, funny and charming.  You’re affectionate.  You are gentle with animals.  You share your food with your stuffed friends of various species.  You can count to 15, sometimes 20 in English and to 10 in Spanish.  You are starting to learn some Ojibwae words too.  You can even say apple in English, French and Spanish.  You love to play hide and seek, play with playdoh and color.  You’ve known your ABCs for a long time now!  You love to explore and when we take you places you are so enthralled and enthusiastic.  You define the term “fun-loving”. 

Opps, went on a bit of a tangent there.  It’s just that you make it so easy!

There were a lot of people here yesterday who love you and a lot of them don’t get to see you very much.  I wanted to give them a chance to see you, and for you to see them.  Not everyone could come, but they know that you know where they live, and that I cannot be held responsible if you raid their supply of broccoli and dessert tofu.  That is, if they even have that stuff in their fridges.  If not, then you’ll just scatter their cereal across the entire room.

Last night, you fell asleep right away, but woke up later still tripping out from all the social stimulation, cake, cookies and other sugarlicious treats.  We had to take you downstairs to convince you that all the laughter from Unckie Ash, Auntie, Unckie Science Bear, Evil Unca C, MoneyBags Mackeck-Earn and Laura wasn’t “everybody crying”.  I took you back upstairs and held you for awhile until you felt better.  Hey, you only turn two once, so I’ll hold you till you come down.  Don’t expect the same treatment when you’re twenty, if I catch you buzzing, we’ll have words and then I’ll make you scrub and clean the house top to bottom when you sober up, only to become high again from all the cleaning product fumes.  No rest for the sloshed around here mister.

You had a wonderful birthday, it’s getting really late now and this working Mumma has to get to bed. 

Happy Birthday little honey.  I love you…with all my chicken.

PS - Since this is going up on Mumma's blog, I am taking this opportunity now to thank everyone who came to the party, and to tell everyone who couldn't be there that you were with us in spirit.

RE: Re: What the Hell Do You Think You're Doing?!

Dearest Daxon,

To answer your question, I go to work when I leave.  When Mumma goes to work, Mumma makes money, when Mumma makes money, Daxon gets really cool stuff like diapers, food and milk!  Neat huh?!  Well, mostly you get more toys, clothes and Mumma gets to pamper herself too.   But all that stuff is just boring.   

I am very proud of you and your Dada.  You have been doing fabulous with the changes.  I knew that would would handle the changes very well.  Your punishments are par for the course.  Not at all a threat, and not at all unmanageable.  Sorry, I know you desired an opposite reaction, but as always, checkmate.

I am a very lucky Mumma to have a son who is so happy and who fairly easily adapts to changes.  I am also a lucky Mumma to have a Dada who is so good at balancing his work/home schedule and takes great pride in his role as "DadMa".

Now, about the poo.  Please try to keep the poo IN the diaper for your Dada. 

Love and Kisses,

Mumma

RE: 365 Days Old

Dearest Daxon,

Today, your are turing 365 days old.  Where the hell do I begin.  To try and put words to the last year is an undertaking similar to nailing apple sauce to the wall.  Someday, Daxon, you will try that, because that is just the kind of kid you are shaping up to be.  You must inspect, examine and experiment with everything.  One day, I will come home and every appliance we own will be in peices all over the place because you took it apart to see how it works.  Your are so smart. You have natural rhythm.  You danced even when you were in my belly.  You love music.  Dada plays his guitar for you everyday and you sing and shake you shakers along with him. 

You are such a happy boy.  Needless to say, you are an absolute character. So silly, passionate and intense.  Your picture in your Happy Birthday announcement in the newspaper from your Uncle Biscotti proves just what a ham you are in front of a camera.  While the other babies likely have to be coaxed into smiling, you flash "Blue Steel" which consists of you tilting your head back, squinting and scrunching your face up, and flashing the biggest silliest smile you can muster.

You suprise me everyday with the new things you say and do. 

Your coming into our lives Daxon, has been the best thing that could ever happen to your Dada and I.  You have filled our hearts with so much joy and excitement that we have to clean up little puddles all over the place.  I know we blame that on you, but that's just part of being in the family, your already getting used to it.

Our getting used to our new lives as parents has been such a journey.  I can only speak for myself here about how I feel in this department.  Your father has his own thoughts and feelings.  Yeah, I've allowed him that.  Can you imagine?  Anyway, it's hard for me to get into that without writing 100 pages.  But I will say this:

The last baby I held before you, was your cousin about 2 years before you were born.  Before that, I don't even remember.  Aside from a few babysitting jobs as a young teen, I had not had much experience with children, let alone babies.  This is were I suprised myself.  I really felt comfortable as a mother very quickly.  You didn't scare me, it was the rest of the world that terrified the living ca-ca out of me.  However, that fear instead, has turned into power and feeds my inspiration and my mission statement as a mother.  Power with a capital P buddy.

Speaking of power.  After the intial confusion about what time you where actually born due to the "spring forward" time change, at exactly 6:59am on this third day of April, I managed SOMEHOW to launch all 10 pounds 8 ounces of you into this world.  I still can't believe how enormous you where.  I blame the all-you-can-eat Indian food lunch buffets.  You don't understand, the curry was like catnip.

My son, you are my life, my everything.  Even when you poke and punch me in the eye, even when you keep on sticking your hand in the cats water and food dishes, even when you cannot stop from climbing your 18 rubbermaid bins of toys, you are the best part of my life.  I'd like to think that you will always poke me in the eye.  Just so that I can have at least one thing stay the same forever.

All My Love,

Your Mumma

PS.  Oh, you can count on my swinging you from side to side and saying "YOUR MY BAAAY BAAAY!" in front of your girlfriends.

RE: Re: Why Don't You Take Some And Shove It!

Dearest Daxon,

Sir, As your Mumma I insist that you communicate.  You will.  Because sooner or later the temptation and urge to please me will catch up to you, and you will say "some".  Once that happens, you will never want to stop.  In fact, it will only get worse!  You'll be saying "more" then eventually "I want".  Those words Daxon, will then bring me more suffering than your whining and bitching ever could.  FYI.

All My Love,

Mumma

RE: Re: What the Hell?

Dearest Daxon,

You have a cold.  And yes, I do have Goop to put on you to help you feel better, and it works.

No, kitty doesn't wear a diaper, he has a litter box.  Whoops, forget I said anything.

Lovingly Yours,

Mumma

RE: Re: Too Far

Dearest Daxon,

I am not putting sour milk on your "Tony Danza".  It is Acidophilus and it is to help cure your diaper rash.  Since you called me stupid, I will tell the internet that you have a yeast over growth. 

I'll have you know Sir, that as Mumma, it is difficult for me to even carry out this task.  The very thought of putting fermented milk on my son's "Tony Danza" is both silly and disturbing.  But as Mumma, I have a job to do and that is to keep you healthy, clean and loved.  Part of keeping you healthy and clean is putting on the rotten milk.  Part of loving you is continuing to do whatever it takes, even if it's weird, to see you get better.

WIth Tender Loving Care,

Mumma

RE: Re: Goop

Dearest Daxon,

The goop attacks are again, for your own good.  The goop that goes on your head will cure the "Cradle Cap" which has escalated to a fungus.  You are stubborn even down to your scalp.  Sir.  Rest assured, your head is not falling apart.

The goop that goes on your Tony Danza (yes, I got the memo) is to cure the diaper rash which escalated to a yeast over growth.  You are stubborn even down to your diaper rash.  Sir.  Rest assured, your Tony Danza is on the mend.

I am sorry that these annoying and ouchy things have happened.  But I want you to know that I did everything I could to prevent them or at least try and get rid of them.  Everything in the book, son.  The doctor supplied me with the various goops which are working wonders.  Put up and shut up. Sir.

Lovingly,

Mumma

RE: Changing Me

Bcc: Dada - Do you see the way he talks to me? Who does he get that from?

Dearest Daxon,

I really do not mean to interrupt your development by changing your diaper.  Again, it is my job description that you created yourself, to make sure that your diaper and butt are clean and dry.  Unfortunately, these diaper changes occur quite randomly and may cut into your important Peek-a-Block whackings or conferences with Duckie, Billy the Bear, Mario the Monkey and Doug the Broken Barked Dog.  I assure you Daxon that I only hold your needs in my highest priority, and if there are inconveniences as a result I sincerely apologize.  I cannot modify the actions to suit your agenda any further.  Your communication is adequate for your age, however, I feel that you are slightly unreasonable at times.  Sir.  I know you days are very busy.  Sir.

Regarding the crawling.  I may have been able to give birth to you, but I guarantee you, it is virtually impossible to provide you with a clean bottom and diaper while you are in full motion and continue to be productive and provide a sanitary, poop-free carpet to play on.  It cannot be done.  It is necessary for you to lie flat on your back and your co-operation is needed and appreciated.  I always strive to be a good Mumma, but I need your help to make that goal achievable.

With respect to being a team, I do not appreciate you joking about me and undermining me at Playgroup.  Your actions are in violation of a loving environment and can be reported to Dada and the Human Resources Department (Gramma & Nana).  This is a warning. 

Lastly, there is nothing to be concerned about with the "Musical Potty" issue.  Unfortunately this policy won't even be discussed with you for some time.  There is nothing to be concerned about.

Lovingly,

Mumma 

RE: RE: Snowsuits and Carseats

Bcc:  Dada

Dearest Daxon,

I am not excessive Daxon.  I do what is necessary to keep you alive and healthy.  It's my job.  Snowsuits are necessary to keep you warm.  It will continue to be cold like it was today, and it will even get much, much worse everyday until May so may I suggest you get used to it.  Sir. It's my job to keep you warm.  Let me do my job.  I absolutely adore my job, but your screaming makes it very unpleasant and quite irritating.  Sir.  The car seat is necessary so that you don't die in a car accident.  In case you haven't received a carbon copy of the memo, I strap myself in too.  Yes, I inflict it upon myself too.  You cannot flail and climb around when we are in the car.  That is how you become a stupid statistic.  May I remind you, we are not stupid statistics in this family. Sir.  It is my job as Mumma to ensure that our family goals such as warmth and staying alive are met.  As a reminder, the last 3 quarters have been a tremendous success. 

I appreciate your constructive feedback.

Signed with Love,

Mumma