My Left Thumb...

A little story about my left thumb. You may remember my left thumb from such stories as "Oh Snap, I Shot a Nail Through My Thumb". Well, the fun doesn't stop there!

Last night I was prepping for dinner. Alex was "helping" me, standing on her tower just to my right. I chopped carrots and onions, and started on the celery (mirepoix!). The whole time Alex and I were having a discussion that centered around Mr. Dinosaurhead and went something like this...

A: My dinosaur.

W: Yes, my dinosaur.

A: No, my dinosaur!

W: That's what I said... my dinosaur.

A: No Papa, my dinosaurs!
W: We're saying the same words, why don't we agree? My dinosaur.

I was trying to teach a lesson (and maybe push her buttons a little), she was getting frustrated. As my expertly honed Japanese chef's knife came down toward the celery she yelled "MY DINOSAUR!!" and hit my arm. More of a tap really. But, as it turned out, enough to make me nearly cut off the top of my thumb instead of the celery.

I cut myself cooking often... frighteningly often. Wrap it up, and move on. This time was different. It wouldn't stop bleeding. It wouldn't even slow down. Apparently the baby aspirin I take daily really, really works well. So, off to the Urgent Care and four stitches.

Other than the throbbing, it's all thumbs up now...

Friday unwind...

There are several great things about living in the wireless world that we find ourselves in. Facebook, Twitter, texting,,, that's all great. But when Michele and I can each work on a Friday afternoon sitting in the pub, that is money... even if she looks a bit sheepish doing it...

It happens...

Yesterday, as is the norm lately, Michele was leaving for work while Alex was just starting to sleepily eat her breakfast. As usual she rushed to the front window to watch Mama pull out of the drive and wave. Then suddenly she stood up quickly and said, "I have to go potty".

I am not very smart or observant. If I were, I would have noticed the urgency and the look on her face. "Well just hold it for a second and watch or you'll miss Mama leaving." So she did.

The next thing I heard was a splashing noise followed immediately by a tiny, worried voice screaming, "MY PEE IS COMING OUT, MY PEE IS COMING OUT!!!". And it was.

I scooped her up and headed to the bathroom, but before we could even get there she was patting my back and saying, "it was an accident Papa, it happens".

OMG, OMG...

Alex got her hair cut! Like, for real cut!! Not just trimmed... CUT!!!

I'm not sure that I'm okay with this... but Michele assures me that I am.

Happy, happy...

Happy eighth anniversary to my amazing wife. Even after all this time there is nobody I would rather chat with, spend a Saturday night with, fight with, or grow with. You're the best.Te amo.

Artsy...

Alex does a ton of painting at daycare. Almost daily we have little treasures to bring home and put on the fridge. She rarely paints at home. Not because she doesn't love it, but because I have issues with mess. I'm a bit neurotic.

Luckily Michele is there to help out the little monkey. So they busted out the easel and the apron...
And they opened up the pre-load paint brushes...And Alex painted. She was very serious and very focused. Just look at her...And, in the end, a modern masterpiece...
I think it really speaks to the plight of the modern toddler. Every brushstroke is like a comment on parental neuroticism.

Perhaps I should get over my issues and paint with her more often.

Terrible too...

People always talk about the "terrible twos". The time in a young life filled with spitting, back-talking, throwing themselves on the dirty floor at Target and have a kicking, screaming fit. But Alex never really subscribed. We assumed she was perfect (equal parts luck and kick ass parenting). Then she turned three.

Light switch. At 8:19am on 12/29/11 she turned three, and at 8:20 she started screaming. She started talking back. She started lying... and then laughing about the lying. She now refuses to nap unless immersed in total darkness and quiet... and not napping just makes everything worse. It's terrible too.

Don't get me wrong, she is still pretty perfect. Just a little more opinionated. Timeouts still work... sometimes. And I think Michele and I have gotten a bit more Zen. We have decided that her screaming does not have to lead to us screaming. We try to giggle at the noise. It works... sometimes.

So, fair warning to all you potential owners of a three year old. Making it past two doesn't mean you won... it just means they're biding their time.